#black court shoes

[zegalba]

Vivienne Westwood: Black Mock-Crock Super Elevated Court Shoes, autumn/winter 1993

#Vivienne Westwood #black #shoes #footwear #runway #high heels #platform #court shoes #fashion #aw93 #1993

[viillablog]

#stilletto heels #vintage shop #dollytopsy #etsyseller #depop #black heels #court shoes #vintage style

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #27

They’re the strongest?!?!

Imagine dis…

You know … I read too much humans are space orcs fic, prompts, ideas… etc.

But I still like Danny Phantom and DC…

And I remember that one A03 fic…

…

Another alien invasion is another Wednesday for the JL but it seems like they are quite different. Not only they are known as invaders in the Green Lantern Corps but they also have some sort of code among warriors, they give a chance to the species they are invading to fight back. By having their strongest fight against their strongest. It is not through fighting to the death as different planets have different climates and terrains and thus have their version of the Olympic games but instead of rewarding the participants medals, they were rewarded their planet's safety, but Hal commented that the challenges are too staged, too well known to the invading aliens. Since the ones defending have no idea how to approach the challenges, they always end up losing. Green Arrow commented that since they can just send out the Big Blue boy scout, Hal shook his head as they have to be the same species one planet already tried it by asking aid from another planet and not only lost but the invading aliens got 2 planets, plus they’ll bring it up to the galaxy court system and put them in a tight spot. Of course, Aquaman blinked with confusion and asked if there was a court system for the galaxy.

…

So of course, when the said invading aliens landed on the Milky Way and broadcasted their intentions. The JL already have a team to fight them, of course, we have Batman with his cunning mind, Wonder Woman for her chivalry and strength, Flash for his speed, Doctor Fate for his mastery of magic, and Cyborg for technological skills. Just as they were about to tell the invading aliens that they had already picked their strongest, another announcement popped out. Apparently to even out the playing field they have a new technology to help them pick out their strongest for them. As if they were talking to kids and promptly pressed the bottom to automatically select the earth’s strongest.

The heroes at the space station as well those around the world who were debriefed about the situation a week before are already bracing themselves to be picked, while the citizens around the globe are all now watching and anticipating as not only this a new thing as the majority of their alien invasion they immediately went to evacuation.

Who appeared/ chosen immediately made both sides' jaws drop….

Three?

Only three are chosen…

An adult, a teen, and a child?

A man who wore a blue rental suit with glasses, blue eyes and black hair. Which the Metropolis recognizes as one of their own. Clark Kent, a reporter with fame and reputation on par with the famed Lois Lane. The ideal model of someone who came from the countryside and made a name and life in the big city.

An 11-year-old boy with blue eyes and black hair who wore a red hoodie, faded jeans, and red shoes, in which the city Fawcett knew of. Billy Batson was, a former foster kid on the run until he found his forever home with the couple named Victor and Rosa Vasquez who also fostered a couple of kids, which Billy claims as his siblings. A kind kid who kept doing good around him and his community.

Lastly, a teen, again with blue eyes and black hair wore a faded NASA hoodie, and blue jeans with faint eye bags which was a small town in Amity Park where he came from. Danny Fenton, the only son of the two leading scientists of ecto-biologists in ecotology, the one who realized that one of the two purple-back gorillas is a female thus avoiding extinction.

…

Clark Kent by day and Superman by night knew about the invading aliens. He also knew that he could not participate despite being raised on Earth made him unqualified to join. So, imagine his shock when he suddenly found himself with two earth children in the middle of a large arena with futuristic cameras looking at them. He is now in an internal dilemma; how can he save the two kids, while he tries to save Earth altogether?

This train of thought also passed by the young Billy Batson on the said teen, Billy already knew that Superman was already thinking of saving the both of them. Now his priority is to survive and keep his secret ID a secret for a bit longer.

…

Danny on the other hand has a completely different train of thought, he was just about to reach his room. His beautiful room where his bed is, he had just finished a four-hour exam to bring his grades back up to an acceptable level, 9 continuous ghost attacks, another nonsense quarrel between the observers and he is close to committing anarchy just so he can have the same treatment to Pariah Dark, an eternal sleep in a comfortable looking Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep.

So imagine his surprise when he is suddenly teleported to what looks like an alien ship, Danny would usually be ecstatic but they have interrupted him, he is so close to his bed. He knew that there would be some sort of an invasion as he remembered the bits and pieces from Tucker’s ramble when they last hung out together.

He doesn’t care if aliens invade Earth, but if you come between him and his bed. He will make sure of what he will do to those who disturb him, he will make his fight with his future self and Pariah Dark like child’s play.

…

The Justice League kept on insisting that they had already chosen their fighters and those who appeared in the middle of their arena were civilians, not warriors. But the invading aliens stayed on their decision and immediately began the games.

The rest of the heroes are now scrambling to not only stop the invading aliens but also save the 2 civilians who were randomly selected.

While the rest of the League is now panicking the rest of the world is now in an outrage. Sending out a civilian man and children by the alien's weird machinery.

The Fenton couples are especially rabid as, if there is anything that tops their ghost obsession, it would be their children’s safety. The family of Batson are on the edge of their seats as they worry for Billy.

…

The games begin with an opening of rules and such, as well as an introduction to the alien’s warriors who are big and full of muscles making the Earth team look so tiny.

The first game starts with a simple hunting game with very minimal clues and tools at their disposal to find what they seek. Clark can crack the code on to where to hunt but it is a dangerous environment, Clark discusses it with his teammates on how to catch it, Clark is already thinking if he should reveal himself as a meta with strength but Danny just glares at the man and grabbed capturing tools form the table and sought out the thing they are designated to hunt.

The other team took a glance at Team Earth and warbled some snickers at how they took looking/hunting too fast without any plans and went back to their planning.

Clark and Billy are worried for their other teammate but after a few minutes, they hear a roar some shuffles, and then silence.

Back on earth, most people are horrified a what could be the teen’s fate but when footsteps were heard they saw the teen again scathed, with a few scratches, and a hulking beast all tied up from its muzzle to its tails.

Clark nervously asked, still maintaining his civilian identity, how on earth Danny had caught such a beast. Danny’s only response was, back from where he came a certain ”friend” really wanted “someone’s” pelt on a wall and learned some things while HE was chasing that “something”.

That starts the Danny effect…

…

A tag sort of game as there is a hunter to hunt them down and their objective is to hide longer than the other team, with both Billy and Danny a part, while Billy lasted a few hours with his wit and skills that he honed during his time when he ran from CPS and the police during his days as a foster child, which is impressive itself as he got two of the other team’s members to be captured first before him. Danny outlasted Billy and the rest of the other team won the game in a landslide and gained some bonus points by not only redirecting the hunter and leading them into a false trail or a dead end but also messing with the said hunter without being spotted by him.

Cooking with live and weird ingredients? Clark initially volunteered to do it as he has a stomach of steel being an alien but cannot cook as he has no idea which ingredient is edible as all alien dishes and ingredients come from Krypton and he has to impress the judges who put them in a disadvantage as the judges are from the same race as the opposing team. Danny just shook his head at Clark quickly put on an apron and set to work.

Clark and Billy immediately turned green at the sight as Danny nonchalantly battled the live ingredients, from the meat section to what seems to be the fruit and vegetable section, It is bloody as it is and quite fascinating as it is disgusting. All their years in the Justice League they have seen some twisted and weird things but seeing their third teammate casually stab what looked like an unholy cross hybrid between an octopus and a shark trying to crawl away from the carnage, cleaned the weird animal from the inside out and fillet it.

Of course, they are in disbelief when the judges practically moan the moment, they taste Danny’s dish. Clark and Billy are pretty sure one of the judges is planning to spare Danny and turn him into their chef if the invasion continues, with the way they look at Danny. The judges reluctantly let Danny’s dish win.

Billy reluctantly asked Danny where he learned to cook like that, Danny’s only response was a grumble of a sound that seemed to sound like at home but that cannot be, right?

Trying to survive an onslaught of hypnotic plants native to the alien’s home world, Danny once again won and even began criticizing the plants for how their music was so horrible that it would not even wake the dead.

Play some sort of FIGHTING VIDEO GAME that is popular in 5 sectors in their part of the galaxy, Danny wins and repeatedly shoots the aliens with pure hatred and anger in his eyes, Clark has to physically drag Danny out of the arena to stop his onslaught of firing to the poor guy who was already on the verge of crying.

And so on with the Earth’s team leading COUGH Danny COUGH and demolishing the invading aliens from their games.

After a while the games are done and Team Earth wins with a massive gap to the invading aliens. They returned the three in the middle of the Metropolis and went away without so much a fuss…

Well, expect that one chef in their midst how begged the leader to take Danny and only him with them but the leader is already fearing for his life as the last few games that humans began to be more feral by the second and he was sure he is also a second away from being the one at the other end of his chopping board.

…

Back on earth everyone cheered on the three and began flashing them their camera lights to get a new scoop, and one brave reporter even tried to interview Danny but when people tried to look for the elusive teen he seemingly disappeared.

Clark knew Danny was, sleeping peacefully in the middle of the bushes a few feet away from them, and kept quiet as he was late to realize that Danny was on the verge of a crash like Red Robin is when he pulled something like this when Conner invited him.

…

PS: If someone out there wanted to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

#dc x dp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #dp #danny fenton #ghost king danny

[reikook]

summary: y/n finds herself caught in a web of as she develops unexpected feelings for her brother's best friend once she comes back from uni for summer break. initial hesitation, the undeniable connection between them pulls her closer, leading to a forbidden romance that tests loyalties and boundaries.

parring: fuckboy!jk x richgirloc

warnings: jk has some anger issues.., they play tennis alott brother best friend trope, y/n brother is taehyung, situationship, secret relationship kinda?, jungkook used to fw y/ns bestie OOP, thier all rich asf smut. angst drug use. and many more to come in other chapters

“Y/n! Taehyung!” their mother said hugging them both. “it’s been so long i miss my kiddos!”

They unloaded the car quickly, and as soon as they were done, y/n picked up her suitcase and book bag and headed straight for her old bedroom.

It had calico wallpaper and a white bedroom set and not to mention it was huge. she went over to her night stand and saw a white framed picture of her as a middle schooler and she quickly put it in the drawer “ew”

Y/ns mom knocks on her door “get dressed Taehyung is inviting his friends over for dinner

Y/n groans knowing his douche friends are coming over.

“Wear something nice!” Y/n mother said leaving her be in her room. Y/n flops on her bed and sighs heavily falling to sleep from the long airplane trip.

Y/n decided to wear a black crop top and light washed blue baggy jeans with black and white converse. She went downstairs of her almost mansion and saw his friends. She already knew them but there was a new member?

He had fluffy black hair, black shirt and jorts with black sambas and tattoos going down his arm with sliver chrome hearts bracelet and a lip piercing. Holy fuck.

Y/n sneaked up back upstairs to her room and added mascara and concealer. Then went back downstairs and sat down at the neatly seat dinner table

“You have a nice home Mrs. L/n” jimin said stuffing his face with the salad. “Aw thank you sweetheart!” Her mom responded, Y/n almost cringed by her mom acting fake and nice

“Y/n can you hand me the bread please?” Taehyung butted in. She reached over and handed it to him

“So.. jungkook? Is that your name?” Jungkook nodded knowing he’s about to be questioned

“You have a lot of tattoos wow.. what did your parents say?” Y/n mom says

“Mom stop” Taehyung whispers to her

“It’s fine my parents didn’t really care about them and I like them a lot so”

Y/ns mom hummed

“And what about you y/n how’s school going? I mean they’ve been calling me alot so”

She shrugged playing with her food. This is the worst thing ever for y/n

After dinner y/n took a shower and changed into a hoodie and shorts and laid on her bed watching tiktok trying to keep her mind off that hottie. She went quickly to Instagram to find him but was quickly interrupted.

Taehyung barged in her room “yo wanna play tennis”

“Sure”

Y/n got up and put her phone on the charger and put on her tennis shoes and grabbed her racket from her closet .They both walked to the tennis court and grabbed the tennis ball

“Ready?” Taehyung yelled out

Y/n hit the ball.

“I’m gonna get a drink of water” y/n called out dropping her racket and walking out of the court and went to the clubhouse and there he was standing there with a blunt in his hand

“Oh shit” jungkook said throwing it away quickly

“I don’t care about that” y/n said filling up her water bottle”

“Wait I think i remember you” jungkook said looking at her intensely “oh shit it’s you! Weren’t you friends with what’s her name.. oh yea Elise. God she was a bitch, no offense”

“What?” Y/n said confused totally of what he just said

“Elise your friend? We dated for like a month or some shit senior year in high school

“I don’t know. I mean she’s my friend but she never told me about you

“Such a bitch..” he said looking up and getting flashbacks

“Shes coming to see me this week I think”

“Eh I don’t care I have no feelings for her anymore as long if I don’t see her dumb face”

Y/n laughed at that “when did u become friends with taehyung?”

“Like this year I was his plug then we just became friends I guess

“Taehyung smokes?”

“No edibles big baby”

Y/ns mouth formed a “o”

“Do you smoke?

“Um.. no I play tennis for my school”

“Boring. Anyway it was nice talking to you.. are u gonna get that”

Y/n looked to see her water bottle was overfilling “Oh thanks”

He walked past her and walked out of her sight. Y/n smiled to herself walking back to the court. “The fuck were you doing?” Taehyung called out

“Nothing? I said I was filling up my water bottle”

“Sureeee”

a/n: hope yall enjoyed this one pls give me feedback this is like my first story ever and this is inspired by euphoria and challengers the movie!

#jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic recs #jungkook fluff #taehyung #bts fanfic #bts ff #jeon jungkoooook

[alanaaii]

Shopping w connie.☆

!plug connie & ur just a spoiled brat.

nsfw. car sex.

“ma you know what you wearing friday?” You shook your head, scrolling on your phone. You and connie were suppose to go on one of your monthly dates this week but your closet just wasn’t giving. “I don’t have s-h-i-t in my closet.” You pull the blanket that you and connie shared on the couch. “that mean i gotta take you shopping?”

You knew what that meant—a full day with connie with no distractions. All about you you and you. Finally deciding to get up and start the day, you took a warm shower and got dressed. Sliding on some black leggings and an essentials hoodie. As you did your edges in the mirror, connie came behind you and snuck his cold fingers up your hoodie.

“connn your hands are cold” you whined as you shuffled to get his hands out. “I just wanna feel you mama”. You turn around and push his hands out. “you can feel on me when i get the stuff i want”. You was a big brat. “come on then” You and connie headed out to his all black tinted BMW. He opened the door for you as you hopped up into the passenger seat. He sat on his side and started the car and made his way to the mall.

Once y’all get there, one hand is entangled with connie’s surprisingly bigger hand and your cute pink purse in the other. “where to first ma?”

you pull connie to your favorite store.

Your eyes glowed as you saw the expensive shoes and clothes on the walls.

“pa do i have a limit?” You looked up at him, batting your pretty eyes. You knew connie would spend every last penny he had on you if it meant you would be happy. “go crazy”

And you did just that. Picking up any cute pair of jeans and putting some scandalous things for connie to see you in later. Once you were done you let the woman behind the counter scan all of your stuff. “girl i know your man love you”

All you could do was smile as connie took out a band and began to pay the total.

He grabbed your bags as you make your way out of the store. “thank you papi”. Standing on your tippy toes, you give him a small peck on his lips. “anything for you mama”.

The rest of the day consisted of you putting things in connie’s hands and him buying it.

As you two headed to the car connie was overloaded with bags. “damn ma you about to make me go broke” He huffed as he put the bags into the trunk. You were sitting in the passenger seat sipping your smoothie that you got from the food court.

As he got into opposite side, you put your hand on his perfectly tatted arm, softly rubbing it. “i’m sorry, everything was just soo pretty”. you pout. “let me make it up to you pa” You dragged your hand from his arm to his pants, feeling him stiffen at your touch. Since his car was heavily tinted nobody could see anything. (this is how you got away with everything ;) )

As you leaned into him you pressed your freshly glossed lips into his pink ones. Slowly pushing your tongue into his mouth. You snuck your hands into connie’s sweatpants and pulled out his already erected dick. His tip already moist from the precum you wrap your hand around his dick and pressed your thumb on his tip, circling it. You slowly break the kiss—a string of saliva still connecting you two.

Dipping your head down to spit on the tip before you wrap your mouth around it. Connie bit on his bottom lip, holding in his grunts. Bobbing your head up and down slowly—making those sloppy wet sounds connie adored.

Connie began to thrust his hips into your mouth. forcing you to take him down your throat, gagging on his length. “Fuck maa..jus like that..” He said in his deep raspy voice that had you weak in the knees. You feel him pulse. You knew he was close so you got on your knees and began to give him that gawk gawk combo using your hand and your mouth.

Connie slapped your ass before putting his hand in your leggings. he slid your panties to the side and rubbed your soaking wet cunt, satisfying the heat that was in your core. His long fingers prompting you go moan on his dick, the vibrations overwhelming connie. He couldn’t hold it. “‘m bout to cum ma”

He took his fingers out of you and grabbed onto your head, pushing your head down as he painted your mouth white. He groaned. “that’s my girl.”

you took one big gulp as the bitterness went away. You lifted your head up and looked at your phone camera. Ruined makeup, sweated out edges and all. “Come sit on it mama” He said lowly as he reclined his seat back.

Sliding your pants off but keeping your panties on, you move over to connie’s side and gently slid down on his dick. He grunt as he feels your gushy walls suck him in. You position yourself before you completely lose yourself. You hold onto connie’s shoulders to keep stable before starting to move. Up and down the sound of your ass clapping against connie’s thighs was like music to his ears. You desperately bounced on him, your juices dripping on the seat. (connie doesn’t mind.) You feel your cunt clench around connie as you felt his thumb rub your clit. This man knew how to make you orgasm quick. It’s like he knew every part of you like the back of his hand. Moaning his name, he put his hands around your waist and pushed you down onto him. “fuckkk”

“you gon’ cum on me mama? huh?”

You could feel your knees about to give up on you as your orgasm was coming. One final thrust and you came all over his dick. Your cum making a ring at the bottom of connie’s dick as you rode out your high. Connie press his lips onto yours to suppress your loud moans as you came down.

“i love you ma”

“i love you too con”

“another round at home?”

Likes, reblogs and follows are always appreciated!

#connie x black reader #connie x reader #plug connie #aot connie #connie springer #aot x black reader #aot x y/n #black reader #connie x black y/n #connie x you #brat reader #connie #connie smut #connie x reader smut

[itzmnne-3-111]

Tears & Kisses★

Shopping with your big military husband!♡

Husband! Ghost who keeps his hand on the small of your back as you two walk around the mall your eyes on all the pretty stores as you walk past.

Husband! Ghost who won’t go in Victoria Secret with you cause he thinks he’d scare the people inside but he comes in once you tell him he can pick out a new pair of lingerie for you.

Husband! Ghost who rambles on about some comic he saw in a stores window and how he’d sneak off to read it when he was younger when his father wasn’t home. Him not noticing you went to the store to buy him the coming instead of the bathroom like you said.

Husband! Ghost who takes you to Hot topic and Spencer’s so you can get all the little shot glasses and Hello Kitty themed things for your collection but he walks out when he sees a tiddy cup on one of the shelves.

Husband! Ghost who takes you to the food court so you can get some of the ice cream and Barbie themed pretzels you saw in a ad.

Husband! Ghost who takes you shoe shopping and sighs once he buys the both of you pink and black matching crocs with all the jidbitz ofc! (I dunno how to spell it- 😭)

Husband! Ghost who carries you on his back to the car while he carry’s all the bags full of the stuff you bought after you got tired of the walking

(A little bit of smut ♡)

And Husband! Ghost who gives you the best sloppy kisses while he fingers your soft pussy after he saw the comic you bought him with your own money♡

#chubby reader #black reader #ghost x female reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x black reader #tears & kisses #bimbo!reader #simon riley x bimbo!reader #♡

[shadowdaddies]

Distraction

Azriel x Reader

A/N: I keep thinking about how this scene from Captain America: the Winter Soldier would fit so well for Azriel x reader on a spy mission

warnings: none

A knock on your door shook you from your daze, wide eyes alert in a prepared defense until you heard the familiar voice rumble lowly through the wooden doorway.

“Are you ready?” Azriel questioned, rough voice sending an unrecognizable thrill through you as you strode towards the door. Turning the handle, you looked up to see hazel eyes darkening as the striking Illyrian swallowed, gaze raking over your form in the fitted dress you’d donned for the evening.

“Ready, Az,” you nodded, allowing yourself the guilty pleasure of admiring your friend’s appearance. He was dressed in a fitted all-black ensemble, tailored to show his impressive physique and highlight his features. He looked like a Prince of Darkness as he stepped to the side, holding out an arm for you to take.

“You look very nice, Azriel,” you smiled, playfully nudging him with your shoulder as he led you down the hall to the grand ballroom. 

He stiffened slightly at your words, as though shocked by the compliment, before he turned to face you. “You look...” he paused, taking a deep breath when he stepped back to look at you. Something sparked in your chest when he spoke again. “You look beautiful.”

Nodding, you looked away in an attempt to hide your blush as well as Azriel had hidden his shadows for the evening. You were both undercover from the Night Court, attending this ball in Hybern to find information on potential traitors. 

Since the war was won, Prythian had absorbed the kingdom of Hybern, but many were still resistant to the ideals of the Continent. You were sent with Azriel to the new ruler of Hybern’s birthday celebration to gather intel, searching for those who might pose a threat to the High Lord and Lady’s restructured kingdom. 

With Azriel’s shadows, he would be quickly identified as the infamous shadowsinger of the Night Court, but with his shadows hidden and you by his side, you could blend in with the other fae relatively easily. 

Which is why you now carried your shimmering skirts, shoes clicking down the marble floored halls with Azriel on your arm. You had expected to be more nervous going into the event, but something about Azriel’s touch kept you grounded, feeling calmer than ever. 

Approaching the double doors that led to the grand ballroom, you nodded your appreciation to the guards who opened the doors for you both. Words escaped you at the beauty of the room before you, murals of fairies from old lining the walls along with gilded chandeliers and twinkling faelight. It was beautiful and romantic, a far cry from what you had imagined Hybern to be.

Feeling a tug on your arm, you looked up to see Azriel flashing you a knowing grin as he guided you towards a servant. Picking up two drinks from their tray, he murmured appreciation to them before handing you a glass. You half-expected him to say something about the beauty of the evening, but surprise didn’t find you with his words.

“Remember our story. Keep it vague and learn what you can tonight,” Azriel murmured, his warm hand rubbing affectionately on your waist at odds with his words. You nodded, remembering your role new mates as your role for the night, and that his touch meant nothing more.

Twining your fingers with his, you led Azriel to a couple who stood by the hearth, smiling as they both listened to the band play its lively tune. You chatted with them, learning the gossip about several royal families who did not approve of the new structure in Hybern. 

“Well done,” Azriel murmured, his lips warm against your knuckles as he pulled them, twirling you in a playful move across the dance floor closer to the next target for intel. 

You wished the giggle that escaped you was more effort than it was, but something about you was truly drawn to Azriel. He was gentle with you, but fiercely defensive of those he cared for. A skilled warrior and good friend. 

Swallowing, you willed your emotions beneath the surface to plaster on your face of grace. Swiping another glass of faerie wine, you focused on the faux feelings you’d manufactured for the evening, ignoring those you really felt towards Azriel as best you could.

You were deep in conversation, laughing and joking with the female visiting from Vallahan when Azriel’s fingers tensed around your waist. Feigning ignorance, you smiled lazily at your “mate.” 

“Is everything alright, my love?” You asked - the question you’d planned beforehand if anything unplanned were to arise. 

Azriel’s gaze flicked to you, more wild than you had ever seen his bright hazel eyes. “I am just aching for a dance with my mate, is all,” he purred, teasing voice betraying the shaking fingertips that hovered your hips.

With audible “awws” and cooing at two new mates who couldn’t resist to be apart, the other fae ushered you towards the busy dance floor, where Azriel took your hand and waist, back held in surprisingly impressive form.

“I know the male in the opposite corner from where I face,” Azriel whispered in your ear, soft as if he were telling you sweet nothings. You ignored the hitch in your breath, gaze flicking briefly to a tall, burly male in the corner whose own eyes flicked to Azriel with curiosity.

“Come with me,” you whispered back, not missing how Azriel shivered at your lips on his ear. He followed you, hands loosely intertwined while you wove through the crowd towards the dark corner of the room opposite from the suspecting male.

Your heart hammered in your chest as the male moved through the ballroom, gaze scanning the crowd including yourselves as though he were looking for someone. 

“Kiss me,” you whispered, pulling Azriel’s body tight against your own, which was pressed to the cold wall. 

“W-what?” he choked out, and you had to bite back your grin at the uncharacteristically flustered spymaster. 

“Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable. Kiss me,” you demanded, willing yourself not to look to the presence you could sense nearing you.

Azriel’s eyes practically glowed as he searched your face, searching for affirmation before one hand found your waist, the other wrapping around the back of your neck as he pulled you in for a deep kiss.

An electric energy shot through you, the spark hitting your chest hard enough to steal your breath at the feeling of his soft lips on your own. You melted into the kiss with ease, both of your bodies interlacing like two halves of a whole. 

You were dizzy for air, completely forgetting everyone else around you when Azriel pulled away, his eyes wide with something that looked like shock. 

Pushing back, you scanned the area for potential threats before deciding you couldn’t find anything. “Azriel, what happened? Are you okay?” You whispered, thumb stroking his cheek to keep up the charade of new mates.

“I- you’re my...” Azriel stuttered, just as you caught sight of the suspicious male slipping out onto the balcony. 

“Come on, Az. Let’s see what they’re up to,” you whispered, keeping a note in your mind to ask him what he was distracted by at a later time.

Part 2

#acotar #acotar x reader #acotar imagine #acotar fanfiction #acotar azriel #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #acotar fanfic #acotar reader fic #acotar reader imagine #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel spymaster #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fic #azriel x reader fluff #azriel acotar x reader #acotar azriel x reader #azriel fluff #azriel fic #acotar x y/n #acotar x you

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [14K] PART ONE OF TWO old money steve, an infatuated waitress, no labels, a disaster waiting to happen. some smut, some jealousy and too many mentions of monaco. 18+

And, baby, for you I would fall from grace

He came into the dining room of the club one Saturday afternoon. Sunkissed, tall, broad, stubble on his jaw and a gold chain glinting from the collar of his white shirt. He had a navy sweater draped over his shoulders, expensive sunglasses in his shirt's front pocket, an unassuming looking leather strapped watch on his wrist - but you’d learned well before then how to tell the difference between new money and old money.   

And Steve Harrington was old, old money. 

The watch cost more than your car and a year's rent on your apartment. Fuck, it cost more than you’d probably ever make working behind the bar of Hawkins’ country club. It cost more than the short black dress you were made to wear, the one that cinched you in at the waist and flared out over your thighs. It shone more than the gold plated name badge that was pinned on your chest, making your plunging neckline even more obvious. It cost more than the black heels that were part of your uniform, more than the five dollar balm that made your lips glossy and peach coloured. 

But still, Steve Harrington and his old, old money noticed you. 

—————

The restaurant was full, the bar even busier, the smoking lounge that sat through the double doors stuffed with leather chairs, studded couches, velvet footstools and table lined with cigars in wooden boxes. The full place smelled like bourbon and smoke, expensive cologne, perfume that cost even more. 

The Lake House country club was Hawkins’ finest institute, an old Manor House that was built on the shore of Lovers Lake, across the water from where teens liked to lurk in their cars and between tree trunks. The Lake House was where the town's elite came to dine, to drink, to lounge and talk. There were brunches with champagne and whisky, afternoon tea with ladies who wore diamonds and pearls, dinners with wine from 1802 and business meetings on the golfing green. Money poured from the club and filled the cracks in the old bricks, men with their daddy’s money bringing in their daughters, their sons, their wives. And when the family drove home in their Bentley, girlfriend’s arrived in red bottomed shoes, perching on laps in the smoking lounge like it was their jobs. 

Maybe it was. You weren’t supposed to ask. 

Your job was to stay behind the bar, a huge mahogany thing that took up most of the back wall. Everything was dark wood and lined with green velvet, the bar stools suede and gold studded, the bottles of alcohol on the glass shelves nothing less than a month's paycheck each. Martini glasses glittered, whisky was in the air like car fumes and the lime you were cutting into wheels was making the cut on your finger pulse.  

He walked in then, into the busy room like he owned it. The Harringtons were certainly wealthy enough to do so, but Michael Harrington and his wife simply liked to dine at the club on Sundays, take up on the tennis courts midweek and finish the day at the spa with a massage each. 

Six hundred dollars a session to hire out the court, four hundred dollar scotch, three hundred dollar steaks (eighty dollars more for the potato dauphinoise), five hundred dollars for a couples massage. Oh, and a one hundred dollar tip for the fucker unfortunate enough to have to deal with them. 

In cash, of course. 

But their son? Steve Harrington moved out of Hawkins long before anyone could work out if he’d grow up to be as cold as his father. Away from small towns, rumour had it he went to New York, an apartment in Manhattan, a job on Wall Street where he started at the bottom and worked his way up on luck, expensive vodka and daddy’s money. But then again, others said he spent his summers in Europe, talks of Italian villas, vineyards in Tuscany, selling yachts to the elite in Cannes, spending his time trading money through casinos, long months in Monaco during the spring. 

Seeing him back in Hawkins was unusual, uncommon, a goddamn rarity - but there he was, letting himself drop into the barstool in front of you like a Greek god etched from marble so expensive that you could barely afford to look at it. He sat with a friend, another twenty something that looked more man than boy because of their tailored trousers, crisp shirts, linen and cashmere and gold on their wrists, round their necks, family rings on their hands. 

Steve Harrington didn’t click his fingers at you like other members of the club did when they demanded to be served, but he did rap two knuckles against the bar top, a gold band on his middle finger hitting the wood. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up, careful and cuffed just below his elbows, the top three buttons undone to show off tanned skin and a smattering of chest hair. More gold, a thin chain settling in the dip of his throat, stubble along his jaw that looked like it was there deliberately, not because he’d forgotten to shave. 

You held your breath when you approached. You’d never served the youngest Harrington before - fuck, you’d never seen him here - but you knew who he was and the reputation dripped from him. 

Old money, older estates, acres of land, shares in companies that were so ridiculously rich you didn’t know what they were for. Fast cars, scandals in Europe, yachts with his name on it.  

Stomach in knots, you straightened up, smoothed down then front of your dress and put on the same smile you used for all the club members. “Gentlemen,” you greeted, “what can I get you both?”

Steve looked at you but his friend didn’t, his back to you as he surveyed the room, mumbling comments about the lack of skirt that showed up this early in the afternoon. You recognised him, a regular in the later evenings, Jonathan Byers, a fiend for a good cigar, an even bigger fan of the girls that held the poker events on weekends. 

“Two Macallans,” Steve told you, already fishing out a money clip from his trouser pocket. The clip was gold, engraved with his initials: SMH. “Twenty year reserve, no ice.”

He really looked at you then, thumbing through one hundred dollar bills, eyes raking up and down your frame as you stood and listened diligently. Even when you turned to pull the bottle of scotch off the top shelf, you could feel him watching, one eyebrow quirked, full lips parted just a little, the top of his tongue peeking from between. Steve looked interested, intrigued. Maybe just a little less bored than before. 

You kept your head down, polishing the tumblers before you poured, a three finger amount of the dark amber liquid and the smell of fire and smoke filled your nose. You’d watched enough men sit around the bar and swirl their drinks under the nostrils, waffling about notes of chocolate and spice before they sipped. It all smelled the same, no matter what price was on the label, like car fuel and burning. Steve downed the drink in one when you handed it to him, like he wasn’t swallowing liquid fire that cost him more than you’d make in a week. 

You watched as his throat bobbed, his lips coming away from the rim of the glass a little glossy, how he licked over his bottom one to catch any alcohol that lingered. Then he grinned, all perfect teeth and charm before he passed you six hundred dollars in notes. 

You nodded your thanks and went to the cash register, smiling what you hoped was politely as you tried to hand him back his change. Ninety dollars, pressed neatly in a pile of twenties and tens. The boy waved you off, still paying a lot of attention to the bare skin along your neckline, gaze running up the column of your throat. His eyes found yours when he finally spoke and god, they were the same colour as the scotch he just shotted.  

“Keep the change, honey.” Steve smiled again, a smug thing that made you aware of how warm your cheeks were. Then he slid on a pair of sunglasses he took from his shirt pocket and pushed his hair back with a hand, nudging his friend to drink up before they both slid off the stools. “Just make sure it goes in your own pocket, okay?”

You gaped at him. The Lake House’s policy when it came to tips - no matter how generous - was for them to be placed in a jar in the back office, ready to be split between staff, however hard individuals had worked, or not worked, that shift. 

The money burnt your fingers. “Um, that’s very generous but I can’t—”

Steve lifted a navy sweater he’d draped on the back of his chair, crushing the soft fabric with one hand. He used the other to reach out, plucking the bills from your fingers so he could fold them all together. His gaze met yours when he leaned back over the bar, unblinking, knuckles grazing the bare skin above your chest when he tucked the money into the neckline of your dress. It stayed there, hidden and you had to snap your jaw shut when Steve grinned at you before he pulled away. 

He raised a finger to his lips, like you were sharing a secret and not a sackable offence and his friend snorted, like he’d seen it all before. Maybe he had. 

“See you next time, honey,” Steve drawled, fishing keys out of his pocket. The silver logo of BMW glinted in the low lighting. “Thanks for the drinks.”

That was the first time you met Steve Harrington. 

Just to touch your face

The next time, he was with a group of people in the smoking lounge, all of them loud, most of them dirty rich and he had a girl on his lap. A waifish thing, pretty and delicate with a ruby pendant that settled in the dip of her chest. She held a martini glass aloft, one that you had to refill and you cursed The Lake House and its rules as your heels taptaptapped across the marble tiles. The hem of your dress swished across your thighs, your hand held a gold tray and the fresh martini swirled in its glass atop it, a well practised movement that made sure none of it spilled. The olive inside tumbled around gin and vermouth. 

Inside of the lounge, smoke billowed. Cigars and cigarettes poised between fingertips, hanging from lips that couldn’t help but spill secrets about their dirty businesses, the people they slept with before, the people they’d bed tonight. Nobody moved out of your way as you squeezed past tables and between the low sofas, leather and velvet brushing the backs of your thighs until you were able to present Steve Harrington’s lap warmer with her new drink. 

She took it from your tray, replaced it with her empty glass and said nothing. It was her hand on Steve’s chest that caused him to look away from the men he was talking with, a hushed sounding discussion about money in Monaco, about the company and its takings for that summer. He frowned at the girl and her pawing until he caught sight of you, his lips lifting in a smile that seemed more dangerous than welcoming. 

You smiled back, polite to a fault, throat going dry when you watched Steve’s gaze drop to that bare expanse of skin above your neckline. It wasn’t obscene, it wasn’t even suggestive. In fact, there was barely any amount of cleavage on show at all per the clubs rules but Steve was fixated on a freckle below your collarbone and the feel of his eyes on you made you fidget. 

You tucked the tray under one arm and tried not to shuffle on the spot. “Can I get you anything, sir?”

There was something in Steve’s reaction to your question. Maybe it was the ‘sir,’ the way you tipped your head towards him when you said it, soft and gentle and pretty. He knew you had to call all the members of the club such niceties but Steve’s eyes flashed and his lips parted, the hand he had on the arm of the sofa curling around the leather a little tighter. 

“A Macallan,” he asked, just like the first time. “No—”

“No ice,” you finished for him, nodding. “I’ll bring that right over.”

You blew out a breath when you turned, heels clicking on the marble as you made your way back to the bar. The lights were dimmed throughout the club in the evening, wall sconces letting out a warm glow, the huge fireplace in the main lounge roaring, popping and cracking with wooden logs. The whole place smelled like pine, like cedar and smoke and expensive leather. Women laughed softly, hanging off their husbands arms, dripping in pearls, in jewels, in false pretences. You smiled nicely at passing club members as you poured Steve’s drink, hands a little shaky from you out down to missing your lunch break, not excitement.

Definitely not nerves. 

You placed the chilled glass back on the tray, amber liquid shining inside the crystal, and made your way to the smoking lounge. Steve was alone when you returned, his lap empty, the girl gone. Not just from his lap, but from the room entirely. You scanned the lounge, expecting to see her on her way back, maybe with a complaint about the drink you made her, just to make you feel small but no - she’d been removed. Your heart skipped, an awful stuttering feeling that you didn’t want to feel. Lowering the tray, you offered Steve his drink, gaze cast down as you felt his on you the entire time. Steve leaned up, too close, taking his drink and smiling at you. 

You were just about to leave when:

“Why don’t you join me?”

The rest of the room was as loud as it was before, music under voices, laughter mixed with a saxophone record, conversations in the smoke. But Steve’s voice rang out almost too clearly from amongst it all. Still, you blinked at him, lips parting in surprise. “Sorry?”

Steve nodded at the seat next to him as he sank back into the couch, an arm thrown over the back of it as he took a sip of his scotch. The watch on his wrist caught the low light as he ripped the glass against his lips, cheeks flushed from the log burner. 

He was dressed in what you assumed he’d deem a little more casual than the last time you saw him. A black silk shirt, short sleeved and with the top few buttons undone again. No visible label, no ostentatious brand name on the chest but you knew well enough by then to know that just meant it was even more expensive. Black trousers, tailored for him and a pair of black boots with a sharp toe. His hair was less styled, maybe from the way his lost friend had been running her fingers through it earlier. Strands of it fell into his eyes and you swallowed hard when you realised you were staring. 

“Take a seat,” Steve asked again, lips curling up in amusement at your flustered expression. 

You blinked at him before you remembered to stand back up straight, tucking the tray back under your arm and hoping that none of the club's managerial staff were lingering nearby. You’d already spent too long away from the bar. “I, um, I can’t. I’m sorry,” you pressed your lips together and tried not to look too regretful. “I'm working.”

Steve snorted, a sound that should’ve been more unattractive than it was but it only made you want to hear what he had to say. He took another pull of his drink, barely wincing when the burn of it trickled down his throat. You did the maths in your head, wondering how it felt to be swallowing seventy dollar sips. He raised his brows and shrugged, looking around theatrically.

“And?” The boy smiled, equal parts pretty and smug. 

You were a little flustered, both at how nice he looked when he smiled and how bold he was being. You opened and closed your lips before parting them again, another polite smile there. “I need to get back to the bar,” you explained. “I’ll get into tr—”

“Trouble?” Steve finished. He shook his head and grinned, a megawatt thing that made you understand that, yes, all the rumours were true. That the famed Harrington Charm was very much a thing. But fuck, his father didn’t smile at you like that. In fact, he didn’t smile at all. “Oh, honey. No one gets in trouble unless I say so. Worried Frederick is gonna fire you?”

Steve dropped the name of your manager like they were friends. They probably were. He looked at you expectantly over the rim of his glass as he took another sip, licking the liquid from his lips. You wondered if he tasted as expensive as his liquor choices. 

You nodded, shrugging, grasping for a reason to say no to this boy - this man. The line at the bar was growing, annoyed looking men clicking their fingers at a flustered looking new girl who was trying to pour champagne into a wine glass. Guilt gnawed at your stomach. 

“He won’t fire you,” Steve assured. He patted the leather next to him, gold ring glinting in the warm light. “C’mon. Sit. I want to talk to you.”

You couldn’t help yourself. 

“Do you always get what you want?” You said it quietly, watching Steve’s lips curl into a grin when he heard. 

Another smile, mega watt, just for you. He tipped his head back and laughed, a pretty sounding thing that made the muscles down his neck stand out, chin tilted up to the gold leafed ceiling. 

“Yeah,” he told you, eyes dancing, cheeks flushed from the fire, the lights, the scotch. “I do.” 

You shouldn’t have done it. You weren’t allowed. There were strict rules about staff mingling with club members - fuck, it was written in red ink on your contract. You were too used to some of the clientele pushing the limits, trying to soften your boundaries with wads of cash, talks of a private plane to some European city where their wife didn’t like to visit. Older men, rich men, business men, family men. All looking for someone young and easily led and agreeable to have fun with between meetings and luncheons, someone to light their cigar and top up their drink for them. They liked to look at you like something to eat up, to chew up, to spit out when they were done and Frederick inevitably hired someone new and younger and prettier. 

You’d seen it happen before. Girls sucked into the lifestyle they could never have, coming into work with new shoes, red bottomed heels with their uniform dress, a Chanel lipstick in their purse, a Porsche waiting outside for them after their shift finished and in the end, a scorned wife in the dining room ready to throw a drink over them. 

You’d seen it all.  

But Steve Harrington was looking at you with so much intrigue. A pretty smile behind his tiny glass of three hundred dollar scotch, messy hair, bright eyes, that black silk shirt that looked easy to slip your fingers into. He was younger, more subtle with it all but the easy confidence in which he spoke to you had you squeezing your thighs together and wondering if your chest would stop feeling as tight. 

It didn’t. 

You sat down. 

Steve grinned, victorious and he moved against the leather sofa so he was sitting back against the arm, turned to face you fully. He brought one foot up to rest on his other knee, hand curling around his leg, and from there you could see the tiny brand on his loafers, a little gold insignia. Yves Saint Laurent. You wanted to laugh. His shoes cost more than you made in three months. 

“What’s your name?” Steve asked. 

You wore the same gold plated pin that every other staff member wore. The Lake House engraved on it along with the logo, a stupidly elaborate key. Underneath, your name was printed in bold letters, but Steve wasn’t looking at it. He was watching your face, brows raised expectantly. He wanted to hear you speak. 

Pressing the tray to your lap, you lingered on the edge of the couch, eyes darting around for your boss, or worse, the girl this man was last seen with. Was it his girlfriend? Did he have a wife? You weren’t sure how old Steve was, but you didn’t see a ring on his wedding finger, not that that meant much in a place like The Lake House. Wedding bands frequented coat pockets more than fingers here. 

You swallowed and told him your name, your voice cracking with nerves that you tried to laugh at but that came out wobbly too. Your shyness made Steve grin a little wider, his wide hands curling around his ankle as he lounged back against the cushions and appraised you with a look that shouldn’t have been proper for public. 

He repeated your name back to you and it sounded so much sweeter on his lips. He said it slowly, a low murmur that made your tummy clench, like he was tasting it out, tasting it on his tongue. “That’s a pretty name,” he said. “I’m Steve Harr—”

You laughed, sharp and surprised. “I know who you are, Mr Harrington.”

If Steve was shocked by his news, he didn’t show it. It was your job to know the members, after all. Their names, their families, the work they were in. Their favourite table, their favourite drink, the time they liked to dine, their preferred slot for playing a round of golf. So instead he smiled and nodded before holding out a hand. 

You took it and he squeezed gently, shaking it politely as he said, “well then, please call me Steve.”

You nodded, wondering if that was allowed. None of this was allowed. Fuck, you glanced around again, eyes a little wide, wondering if Frederick was in his office, god forbid, watching you through the cameras. Steve must’ve noticed this, because he swallowed down the last of his scotch and set the empty glass on the table. You’d have to move it soon. 

“Relax.” His arm stretched out along the back of the sofa, tanned and corded with lithe muscles. His fingers tapped a beat on the leather, close to your shoulder. “Nothing bad is going to happen.”

You laughed, a shaky, ironic sounding thing. You forgot who you were talking to, just for a second, your heart pumping. “That’s easy for you to say.” You swore then, a pained noise, because Frederick was marching out of his office, three piece suit right across his shoulders and his pocket watch swinging.

He was coming over. 

You made a noise similar to a squeak, drinks tray clutched to your chest and you made to jump up but Steve’s hand stopped you. Warm and wide, it took up most of your knee and you blinked at it in surprise. He didn’t move it when you stared at him and he still didn’t move it when Frederick approached, red faced and nostrils flaring. 

“Mr Harrington, sir, it’s so good to see you back at The Lake House,” your manager began, his voice a well practised purr. There was a slight British tinge to his voice, one you knew was fake. “Please take my sincerest apologies for you being bothered. I’ll be asking my staff to join me in the office for a much required conversation about professional boundaries. Please excu—”

“Fred,” Steve greeted warmly, his smile much more forced than the one he’d been giving you. Frederick twitched. “Nice to see you.” Steve’s hand still covered your lower thigh and squeezed slightly, in what you thought was supposed to be reassuring but his thumb on the inside of your knee made you too warm. “No need for anything like that, actually.” Steve said your name, wrapped it around his tongue and licked over his lip like he was savouring it before he continued. “—was invited to sit with me.”

The clubhouse manager hardened, a flash of annoyance going over his features and his neck grew more red in anger. He smiled through it, a tight lipped thing that Steve grinned at and you had to duck your head, panic ripping through your body. You couldn’t lose this job. 

“How nice,” Frederick finally ground out. He clasped his hands in front of him and glared at you from the sides of his eyes before he smiled at Steve again. “I hope my staff is doing her utmost to keep you pleased, Mr Harrington. Do not hesitate to ask for anything.”

You hated the way he said it, like any club member could get anything they wanted from you, just because they had enough money to be here. It made you square off your shoulders and lift your head, emboldened. Steve was watching you, that look of intrigue on his face once more. He nodded at Frederick and then gestured to his empty glass. 

“Actually, Freddie, could you be a pal and fetch me another?” His tone was too polite, bordering on patronising. Frederick’s tight smile grew tighter, a thin line that stretched across his ruddy face until you feared it might split. “A Macallan, no ice. Anything for the lady?” Steve turned to you and winked, a subtle thing that let you know everything was under control. 

But you knew better than to rock the boat, better than that, you knew not to drink on the job. Especially from the club’s bar. The only thing you could afford from behind the mahogany counter was the one thing Steve always refused. Ice. 

“No, thank you,” you murmured. 

Your manager had no choice but to walk away, his back rigid, proverbial steam coming out from his ears. You watched him snap Steve’s order at a poor, unsuspecting barman who then brought it back over on another shiny tray. He raised his brows at you when Steve thanked him for it and you shrugged, not knowing what was going on either. 

When he left, Steve turned back to you, leaning back into the sofa. He looked more tanned that the last time you’d seen him. Maybe it was the dim lighting, the warm glow from the sconces along the walls, the amber coloured shade on the lamp beside him. Maybe he’d just been back to Italy. 

Monaco. France. Spain. 

He took a sip, eyes dancing over you and when he brought the drink back down to rest on his knee, he spoke. “Have you worked here long?”

It took you a second to realise he was speaking to you again, his voice lower and softer than it had been with your boss. You noticed Steve has a habit of direct eye contact, always looking right into your own eyes as he spoke. It was a little jarring, the confidence, that bold type of charm that must come with always getting what you want. 

“Uh, yeah,” you scrunched your nose, trying to remember months and years. “Three years now, or close enough.”

“I should’ve come back sooner,” Steve quipped back, his smile easy, his eyes roaming over you. His ring tapped against his glass of scotch and you didn’t know what to do. Was he flirting with you? “Do you live in town?”

“Couple miles out, smaller place near Sugar Creek.” You weren’t sure why you were telling him this. 

“Yeah, I know it,” Steve replied. “Makes sense, why I hadn’t seen you around before. Did you go to school ‘round here?”

You felt like you were being interviewed. A handsome, rich man asking the questions, sitting easy in his throne and you had an awful, awful urge to please him with your answers. To do good. To be praised. 

“I went to St. Mary’s High in Green Bay,” you swallowed, your tongue feeling too big for you mouth. Nerves bubbled in your stomach. “Then I was supposed to move to California— Berkeley.” You winced, remembering. 

Steve looked surprised, eyebrows raised, nodding. “What was your major?”

“Social law.”

Steve hummed. “Smart girl.” There it was. That praise. You tingled with it. “What happened?”

You heard the words he didn’t say, the unasked question. ‘Why aren’t you there? Why are you here? Wearing that silly little dress and heels that hurt your feet and that fake, fake smile that makes your cheeks hurt so much you want to scream into your pillow when you get home every night?’

You pondered over what to say. How truthful to be. How blunt, how ugly and honest. Shit, you could’ve said. Family, parents, money, bad luck, worse circumstances. Housing, a broken down car, an apartment that fell through at the last minute, a scholarship that didn’t happen, an aunt that got sick, a mom who didn’t like to let go. 

Instead you smiled politely and said: “life.” 

Steve gave you a wry smile in return, one that told you he could see through it all and he knew exactly what you wanted to say. Like he knew you weren’t allowed to and you were playing by the rules. Frederick was at the bar, staring at your back until you felt your bones crunch with the weight of it. 

Steve finished his drink, slid his glass onto the table and ran a hand through his hair. “It was nice to talk to you,” he said simply. He took your hand, not to shake it like last time, no. Instead he held it for a beat or two, and when he took his away, neatly folded bills were left between your fingers. They burned. 

“For the table service,” he said as a way of explaining. You didn’t know if he meant the drink or you. “I’ll see you next time, honey.”

And then he left. You watched him saunter through the bar, nodding and smiling at people who greeted him, taking his jacket from someone at the door and then he was gone. 

That was the second time you met Steve Harrington. 

If you walk away, I'd beg you on my knees to stay

A week later you were clocking into work with the intention of heading to the staff locker rooms, ready to wrestle yourself into that black dress the club called a uniform. It was early afternoon on a Wednesday and The Lake House was quiet, a few greying women you knew to be part of the book club were sat having tea by a window, a group of men leaving the gym, sweat barely there, but the towels over their shoulders had designer logos stitched in the corners. 

Frederick found you with your heels in your hand, a look of disgust on your face as you kicked off your sneakers. He wasn’t even supposed to be in the girls locker room, but he shook his head at you and took the stilettos from your hand. 

“No,” he looked irritated, as if you should’ve known better. “You’re on the green today.”

You screwed up your nose at him. You were never on the green and you told him as such. “The schedule has me in the bar all day.”

Frederick huffed as if such questions were an inconvenience to him. He ducked, rooting around in your locker as his shoulder bumped your knee and he came back with the uniform you hardly had to wear. A white tennis skirt, bordering on too short with pleats that made the men tip well, even as their wives glared. A forest green sweater to match, the same colour as the club logo, white sneakers that were brand new from never being used. 

“Special request,” your boss told you in lieu of a real explanation. “Get dressed, they’re waiting. Hurry.”

You gaped at him as he bundled the clothes into your arms. “Who’s waiting?” You called after him. “What hole?”

“Any of them,” Frederick yelled back as he walked out of the locker room and down the hall. His voice echoed back to you, a daunting thing. “He booked out the whole course.”

Driving the beer cart over the green was always a nerve wracking experience. The drinks rattled noisily and the breeze kept catching at your skirt, threatening to flip it up over your thighs as you tried to manoeuvre the buggy around the man made dunes and valleys. You weren’t sure where you were driving to, or who you were going to meet, but you kept an eye out at each hole for someone, anyone. 

It could only really be one of two people, you guessed. Mr Donaldson was harmless enough, but he had a decade or three on your own age. Divorced and the owner of a film company in Atlanta, the man liked to frequent the clubhouse during the summers he spent back in Hawkins, pretending he was visiting his young daughter when he really preferred to lounge at the bar during your shift, trying to convince you that you just needed to see his condo in Georgia. 

The only other person you could think of that would request you and you alone, was someone you haven't seen since the week before. You’d looked for him, watched the cars coming into the lot to be dropped off for the valet’s to park but you hadn’t seen any BMW’s. Steve didn’t visit the bar, didn’t spend any afternoons in the smoking lounge - you didn’t even see him with Jonathan Byers at the poker night on Tuesday. 

You thought he might’ve left town again. Back to whatever European city he’d decided on for the week, for the month. Maybe he’d gone back to New York, maybe he had meetings. Maybe he had a girlfriend, one for each country. 

Mr Donaldson was the harmless option. Annoying, sure. But bearable. Safe. Mr Harrington… he wasn’t harmless at all. You knew which one you wanted to see. 

Sure enough, you turned the corner to hole eight to see a group of young men talking and laughing around their own golf cart. You saw some familiar faces, all known for being young, handsome and rich. 

Billy Hargrove of Hargrove’s Vintage Motors. Crude, sharp witted, too flirtatious, he was the next in line to take over his father’s company and fortune, selling refurbished vehicles for prices that made your eyes water. 

Jonathan Byers was there too, a young mogul who was up and coming in the art world. Once a critic, his photography had shot to fame after some black and white nudes of his then girlfriend were ‘leaked’ to the paper he once worked for. His family paid it all off as some sort of art nouveau exhibition, a look into scandal and sex in 30mm film. He lost his girlfriend but landed a gallery in the downtown neighbourhood of San Francisco. 

Eddie Munson, someone you actually knew from high school. A decent guy, there because he worked for it, illegally, sure - but didn’t they all? One way or another? Selling weed and who knows what else to the majority of the population of Hawkins made for a popular man, but Eddie brought in bank when he started selling to the elite, the rich kids of Hawkins High who preferred powder at their parties. He got into The Lake House with cold, hard cash instead of his family name and he stayed in the background of it, usually.

A few other men lingered, clutching at clubs and practising their swings, Wall Street leeches that were stuck at the bottom of the totem pole but still decided they had enough money in their daddies bank to be able to click their fingers at you and smack your ass as their Rolex’s jingled.  

Amongst them all, in black slacks and a white polo, was Steve Harrington. Sunglasses over his eyes, leather golfing gloves on his hands, he was smirking at something Eddie said before his head snapped to you. In fact, everyone was staring at you. 

You tried to keep your head high and your expression neutral, turning off the engine to the golf cart and doing your best to swing your legs out without flashing anything you weren’t supposed to. You kept your hands on your skirt, smoothing it down, hoping that you could get through this shift without any embar—

A long whistle, salacious and eager, coming from Billy Hargrove. A few of the boy’s laughed and Billy grinned, sharklike, letting his eyes crawl from your toes to your tits. “Damn, Harrington. You paid for one of the good ones, huh? C’mere, Sugar, daddy needs a drink—”

You were frozen, standing awkwardly by the back of the buggy where the drinks were kept in a cooler, a thousand dollar pick ‘n’ mix of whisky, scotch and gin for the men to choose from. There wasn’t any Bud Light at The Lake House, not even on the green. 

But Billy didn’t get much further into his catcalls, stopped by a hand on his elbow that tugged him away from you and the other men. The snickering stopped, a heavy silence falling over the group as Steve took Billy aside with nothing more than a touch to his arm. You watched as Steve slid his sunglasses off, his hard gaze on the other boy as he whispered something too low for you to hear. But Billy listened, albeit with a glare in his eyes, but he nodded, sharp and just once. His jaw flexed. 

You didn’t know what was happening. You didn’t know what to do. You found Eddie’s gaze, saw his soft smile, knowing. He winked at you, twirling a club in his hand as he waited for the game to continue. And it did, once Steve seemingly dismissed Hargrove. The other men started talking again, easy and light like nothing had happened, requesting different drinks from you that you pulled out of the cooler, ice making your hands wet and numb. 

And all the while Steve lingered at the back of them, sitting in the driver's side of the other golf cart, waiting with his eyes on you. He didn’t approach once Jonathan left with his glass of Glenfiddich, in fact, he didn’t make out like he wanted a drink at all. So you stood by the cart like you were supposed to and watched the men take turns at swinging a stick at a ball, yelling profanities when they missed, yelling more profanities when they didn’t. 

You couldn’t help let your gaze wander to Steve, the picture of luxury as he leaned back in the leather seat, one leg out of the cart and stretched across neatly clipped grass. He was lighting a cigarette, held between his lips as he lowered his gaze to his cupped hands, gold zippo flickering with an amber flame. He looked up as he blew out the smoke, eyes finding yours, grinning when you startled. 

Steve took another drag and asked, “you not comin’ to say hi?”

Three years of ingrained obedience made your feet move forward, doing as you were told at the words of another rich man. You felt unsure, walking across the green empty handed, but Steve hadn’t asked for a drink, so you stopped just shy of where his leg was stretched out of the cart. If you moved any closer, you would’ve been between his spread knees. You clasped your hands in front of you, pressed against your little, white skirt. It lifted a little with the breeze, a sharper wind than the day before that told the town fall was coming. 

Steve watched the hem catch and fall back against your thighs, brown eyes tracking the movement to see what little new skin he could watch but apart from that, he didn’t make any of the lewd comments his friend had. 

“Mr Harrington,” you said as a greeting. “Good afternoon, can I get you anything to drink?” You were polite to a fault, well trained, good mannered, an expert in making yourself small and only seen when spoken to. 

Steve ignored your question. He inhaled his cigarette again, cheeks hollowing out, lips pursing, jaw sharpening. He smiled at you as he blew smoke out of the side of his mouth, the wind taking it away from your face. “I told you to call me Steve,” he said and his voice was quiet, a low thing that made your face heat up. You tried to apologise, but he kept talking. “How are you?”

You blinked, surprised at his question. You didn’t think you’d ever been asked that while at work. “Uh, I’m fine, thank you. How’re you?”

Steve nodded and flicked ash onto the grass, letting it sink into the course. “I’m great, thank you. Better now you’re here.” He grinned when you fidgeted, lips parting, hands unsure what to do. You twisted your fingers together a little tighter. “You okay being out here?” Steve let the cigarette balance between his lips and you watched it move as he spoke around it. “I can let you go back inside, if you’d like.”

Normally such words would be used as a trick, a trap, a warning. A subtle threat from an unhappy customer that would ensure you did as they wanted, even if it meant staying later than you were being paid for, adding extra time to their spa passes, even if it risked your own employment. But Steve looked and sounded genuine, his eyes watching you as you worked up the courage to tell him the truth.  

“It’s okay,” you finally said, voice betraying how shy you felt. You sounded confident, in control. You felt nothing of the sort, especially when the boy grinned again, wider this time and god, he looked like he owned the world and everything in it. 

“Excellent.” Steve flicked the stub of his cigarette away and pushed his sunglasses back onto the bridge of his nose. He tilted his head at the empty seat beside him and said: “jump in.”

You stuttered over an excuse, an explanation, eyes a little wide as you looked back over to the rest of the group, the drinks cart you were supposed to man all day. “I— I can’t? I’ve to stay with the cart all day, if I leave it I’ll get into—”

Steve cut you off with a tsk and a shake of his head. His voice turned to liquid gold as he spoke, rich and sweet and awfully condescending. It made you drip. “What did I tell you last time, huh, honey? No one’s gonna tell you off unless it’s me. Now c’mon, you don’t wanna spend some time with me?”

You could’ve stayed. You were sure Steve wouldn’t have been mad. You should’ve stayed. You were breaking rules. All of them. But Steve was grinning at you from the front seat of the golf cart, tanned arms flexed as his leather gloves gripped the wheel and all of his friends played pretend, like they couldn’t hear what was going on behind them as they took another swing. 

You should’ve stayed. Maybe went back into the clubhouse, took off your sweater and skirt and played nice behind the bar in your usual attire, serving clients old enough to be your grandfather as they slipped fifty dollar bills into your hand just so you’d lean over for them again. 

You got in the cart. 

Steve positively beamed, a hot smirk that stretched across his pretty face and you barely heard the whistles and yowls of his friends as he sped away as fast as the buggy would allow. He went off course, cruising alongside the green and heading towards the path between the woods that took you to lovers lake. 

“Feeling bad today, Berkeley?” The nickname caused your heart to jump, confirmation that he’d been listening the last time you both spoke, that he’d remembered. 

But still guilt and worry gnawed at your chest and you looked around at the empty course, half expecting to see Frederick chasing after you both in the drinks cart you’d abandoned so carelessly. What did it matter, really? The price of everything in the cart was included in whatever it had cost for Steve to book out the entire fucking course for the day. A stolen scotch or two didn’t matter. Not really. 

You didn’t know how to reply, so you didn’t say anything at all, just sitting by Steve’s side like a baby deer caught in headlights, like a good little girl that wanted to know if it really was true, if Steve really could keep you out of the trouble he was leading you into. The boy must’ve seen your bleak expression ‘cause he laughed, pushing back the hair that the wind blew across his forehead. 

“Honey, it’s fine,” Steve glanced over at you as he turned down the dirt path to the lake. You could see his eyes shining at you through his shades, amusement making them glitter. “I promise.”

So you nodded and tried to smile, doing your best to relax into the seat and when the cart bumped over a fallen branch that Steve didn’t bother to avoid, the jostle of it made your thigh bump into his. He grasped at your knee as an apology of sort, murmuring something you couldn’t hear over the wind, but his palm engulfed your bare knee once more and fuck, fuck, you couldn’t think of anything else. His gold ring looked pretty against your skin, his tanned hand complimenting the dough of your thigh nicely and you tried to remember how to talk. 

“Is there something you needed my help with at the lake, Mr Harrington?” You didn’t think Steve needed any help on how to work speed boats or jet skis, but still, you weren’t sure what else to say. 

Steve laughed again, a pretty sound that made your toes curl and he slowed the cart to a stop at a shaded area along the shore, far enough away from the sandy embankment that the men on the lake in their fishing boats wouldn’t be able to see you. “C’mon now, I thought you were a smart thing,” Steve pouted at you as he turned off the cart's engine. His hand left your leg and you mourned the loss of it, heart jumping again when his hand curled around the back of your seat instead. “What did I tell you to call me?”

Your chest warmed like you were back in middle school, getting scolded by a teacher who you didn’t want to disappoint. It bloomed across your neck and face, only getting hotter as the entire sensation of it made you squeeze your clasped hands between your thighs. Steve’s gaze dropped to your lap, a quick glance down that made the corners of his lips curve up. 

“Steve,” you said quietly, sounding shy, reserved. Your body was giving away too much, you couldn’t let your voice join in. 

Steve nodded and the hand that was resting against your seat moved a little, brushing against your sweater until he could rub a thumb against your shoulder blade. “See, she’s a smart girl after all, isn’t she?”

You could only nod. What the fuck was going on? Hidden by the trees, on the edge of the water that was across from where you usually spent weekday afternoons. You could see The Lake House from here, could practically feel Frederick’s gaze out of the bay windows, boring a hole into the middle of your forehead as you sat with one of the most affluent clients on the rolodex. Steve Harrington had his arm around your back, his eyes on your bare thighs, his other hand ghosting along the hem of your skirt. He pulled at it, bringing it down the mere centimetre it had ridden up, knuckles skimming your too hot skin. 

He didn’t look away from it when he asked you: “And if you are a clever, little thing, d’you know why I brought you here?”

If it had been dark, if it had been closer to night, if the grounds had been empty and the lake was still, maybe you would’ve felt more scared than you were. If it had been anyone else, maybe you would have been sitting there in the shadow of the trees and cursing yourself out for being so stupid. Going with this boy - this man - letting him take you off alone and away from prying eyes, letting him touch your leg and get too close. It was stupid, wasn’t it? Despite what Steve said, this wasn’t smart, was it?

But you found that you didn’t care. You really didn’t fucking care. Not one bit. 

You shrugged, cheeks warm, too wary to say anything out of turn, too cautious to say anything too bold for fear of losing your job. Or worse, being rejected. 

Steve pouted. “No?” He tutted and sighed, a dramatic sounding thing and he let his hand fell back onto your leg, higher this time. You held your breath as he skimmed his palm upupup until his fingertips disappeared under the hem of your skirt that he’d just pulled down for you. “Well, I wanted to personally invite you the poker game with me tomorrow night. You know the one, don’t you? It’s in the lounge, nine o’clock.”

You tried to steady your breathing, exhaling sharply from your nose as Steve’s fingers wandered, never going higher, going slow and soft enough that you could slap his hand away if you wanted to. You didn’t. “I’m working that shift,” you whispered. 

His eyes met yours, his grin blinding. “Good, you’ll be there then.”

“Working,” you reminded him, the last syllable of the word hitching in your mouth as his fingers passed over your leg once more. You felt the cool metal of his gold band on the inside of your thigh. “I’ll be there to work.”

Steve nodded, like he understood, like he wasn’t planning to monopolise every minute of your shift, wondering how long he could keep you by his side at the poker table before you got too worried and scrambled back to the bar. “Of course.” He pulled back a little, his nose too close to brushing yours as you couldn’t help but lean in too, head tilted up to his like you did it all the time. “And then after that,” he took his hand from your thigh and you tried not to cry about it, ‘cause he used the back of his hand to push your hair away from your face instead. “You could come back to mine?”

 Oh, fuck. You couldn’t help the smile that fluttered across your face, the giddy, shy laugh that followed. You were flustered and it showed, and as much as it made Steve smile back, it made him hard as a fucking rock. 

“Shit, uh, god, sorry,” you shook your head, as if to clear it. You felt fuzzy, hazy, under Steve’s spell as he kept smiling at you, clearly entertained by your flushed face, your dazed expression. “I’m really not supposed to do that.”

You didn’t say no, Steve noted. You didn’t say that you didn’t want to. In fact, from the way your eyes dropped to his lips over and over again, Steve was pretty sure he could seal this deal with you faster than his last visit meeting with that winery in Sorrento. 

That wasn’t to say you were easy, no. Just real fucking cute. He had a forty percent share in that vineyard and soon enough, he’d have you too. 

“What?” He played dumb, all syrupy sweet smiles and his voice all soft. He traced a circle around your knee. “You can’t see me out of work? Surely Fredrick isn’t that much of a tyrant, honey.”

You squirmed under his gaze, the one that made you feel like he was undressing you. You were too warm and his innocent fingertips on your knee were making you wanna drag his hand back up your thigh and underneath the hem of your skirt. “We’re not supposed to involve ourselves with club members.” Your words felt dull in your mouth, heavy and cotton like. 

Pointless. 

Steve pouted, lips pursing like he was trying to get you to kiss him. He tutted; his warm, wide palm curling around your thigh again. He squeezed gently and your mouth fell open, panting, an invitation. “What if I want to be involved with you, hm? What then, honey?”

You let your head fall back a little, lips wet and parted, eyes closing briefly, because Steve let his fingers slide up a little further, the tips of his middle and pointer finger brushing, just fucking barely, across the cotton of your underwear. You knew you were wet and you knew that he did too. How could he not? The damp fabric dragged across his digits and you saw the realisation in his eyes, that flash of heat, that curl of his lips that made his smile a smirk. 

“Remember what I told you?” He let his lips fall into ‘o’ at your small noise, an almost whine that sounded blissed out. God, he could have fun with you. “Do you? C’mon smart girl, what do I always get?”

You blinked at him, sucking in a breath as you fought the urge to grind down on his hand. Steve took his fingers away, the damp tips of them trailing back down the inside of your thigh as he waited for an answer. 

“You told me,” you took another breath, looking around quickly, burning at the sight of the boats on the lake, the blurry people across the water by the clubhouse, sitting outside for afternoon tea. “You told me you always get what you want.” 

That was the third time you met Steve Harrington. 

Don't blame me, love made me crazy

The night after, you’d spent too long getting ready for your shift. Too long in the shower, letting the steam fill the tiny room, honey and peach scented body wash running in rivers down your bare skin, your razor chasing after it as you did your best to make every crevice of your body silky smooth. 

You told yourself you weren’t going home with Steve Harrington. You told yourself you couldn’t, that you weren’t allowed to. 

But you took the time to layer mascara on your lashes, fixing any smudges before finishing your makeup with a layer of gloss on your lips, tinted a rosy pink and drawing more attention to them than you’d usually want. Black dress, clubhouse mandated stockings and heels, freshly polished. You left for work with your heart in the back of your throat. 

The Lake House was quieter than usual on poker nights, mostly because each guest had to buy their way in. All players had to place a ten thousand dollar deal in with the croupier, pockets emptied and jackets checked at the door. It made the smoking lounge feel bigger, men seated around a large poker table, the dealer in the middle, chips stacked high and cigar smoke lingering in the air. It smelled like tobacco, leather, expensive cologne and money, and god, the tips were good. 

There were familiar faces around the table, Billy, Jonathan, Mr Donaldson, a few other men from the club that liked to order expensive drinks and call you things like ‘sweet cheeks’ and ‘sugar.’ The room was dimly lit, a soft amber glow that was kept in the room with closed drapes, velvet lined chairs, and bar staff that were trained not to speak unless spoken to. Everything was hushed and whispered, men talking money over glasses of liquor, cigars in one hand, their dealt hand in the other. 

Then there was Steve, coming into the room a little late with another suit on, sharp and with a matching black shirt underneath, looking like he didn’t give a shit. He didn’t look at you as he took his seat, smirking at something Jonathan said and sliding a wad of stacked bills towards the dealer. He got his chips, he got his cards and the game began. 

It took a whole twenty minutes before he raised his hand, a two finger salute that let you know he wanted a drink. You beat the other waitress to it, slipping in front of the new start - Vickie something - and your heels clicked as you made your way over to Steve. You already had a drink on your tray, poured the minute you saw his hand go up, his eyes still on his hand. 

A Macallan, no ice. 

You placed the tumbler on the table in front of him, knees bending slightly to make sure it didn’t spill. Without warning, Steve’s hand snuck along the back of your thigh as you placed your tray under your arm, ready to walk away. Fingertips traced over the crease of your knee, ghosting over your stocking. You watched his gaze flicker to the drink he didn’t have to ask for, a slight curve to the corners of his lips as he smiled his approval. He leaned back, head tipped up to you so you had to bend down slightly to meet him. His hand was slipping up the back of your thigh the whole time, hidden from the rest of the room, from the other players, your boss in the corner. 

You bent at the waist, feeling your skirt rise up, feeling Steve’s hand do the same. His thumb ran along the crease below your ass, over the sliver of bare skin between your underwear and stockings. 

“Smart girl,” he whispered in the shell of your ear, making you burn. His voice was low and a little rough from hardly talking, only communicating with nods to the croupier, dead face glances at his opponents. His chips were stacked high for his efforts. “You look pretty. How ‘bout you just stay beside me, yeah?”

You weren’t supposed to. But you did. You watched as your boss frowned, as Vickie looked surprised. Beside Steve, Jonathan snickered quietly and across the table, Billy narrowed his eyes. 

“Breakin’ some rules?” He mouthed to Steve. 

Steve ignored him.

The night came to an end close to one o’clock, once the bar was almost dry and Steve had most of the money. He accepted the passive remarks about his poker face, his ability to lie through his damn teeth, how he didn’t need all that money anyways. Then there were the handshakes and slaps on the back, good natured talks and invites to lunches, chats about business opportunities and stocks. And all the while you tidied, putting away empty bottles of thousand dollar whisky, pouring hundred dollar glasses of Malbec down the drain. Cigar ash on the table, white powder tipped dollar notes that everyone pretended to not notice. Heavy tips on the table top, damp from spilled drinks, pushed into your apron pocket while the men around you tried to get a peek up your skirt. 

And then Steve was leaning over the bar top and still ignoring Billy. He was watching you clean, eyes tracking the way your hands slid the cloth over the mahogany, and while your cheeks warmed at his attention, you let him. You were off the clock, your shift over. Bar closed. 

Home time. Maybe. 

“—you even listenin’ to me, Harrington?” Billy sounded annoyed, words twisting on his tongue, whisky making them come out a little slower than he wanted them to. 

“No.” Steve’s reply was short and bored sounding. 

“I said, you fucker, that I need a ride. S’posed to be on a goddamn flight at five o’clock and this fuckin’ tequila is makin’ me piss like a fuckin’ racehor—”

Steve didn’t take his eyes off of you as he took his wallet from inside of his suit jacket pocket. Using two fingers, he offered Billy a fifty, holding the bill in front of the other man’s face. “Take a cab.”

Billy looked offended at the suggestion. Disgusted, actually. “A cab? What do I look like to you, huh? Huh? A fuckin’ peasant?”

Steve just shrugged and slapped the bill on the counter anyway. “I’m having company,” he told him. Then he drained the rest of the one drink he’d ordered from you all night and met your gaze straight on. “You ready?”

Not, ‘would you like to join me?’ Not, ‘would you like to come back to mine?’ No. Just a simple question. ‘Are you ready to go?’

You nodded. Yes, you were ready. 

Billy laughed, a sharp and mean thing as he looked between you and Steve. Then his gaze turned salacious, drunk and lazy as he took in your short dress, your shiny lips. He nudged Steve and nodded towards you. “You not sharing this time, Harrington?” He tutted. “What a shame.”

You didn’t know what to say. If you’d been at a bar in town, standing on either side of it, you’d have listened to the twitch in your hand and lifted it, letting your palm meet Billy Hargrove’s right cheek, regardless of how much money was in his wallet. But Frederick was by the door talking to Mr Donaldson about summers in the Bahamas and you couldn’t do shit. 

So you turned your back, polished another wine glass and slid it back onto its shelf. 

“You know,” you heard Steve murmur. His voice was low, controlled. Dangerous sounding. “You keep letting your mouth run like that, and I’ll make sure you don’t have a reason to get that five am flight. One call and there won’t be no fucking meeting in L.A, do you understand?”

You didn’t hear Billy’s reply. In fact, you weren’t sure there was one. Instead, Steve walked to the side of the bar and brushed some invisible lint off of his jacket as he waited for you to untie your apron. You hesitated, watching as Fredrick disappeared into his office and then, and only then, did you step out from behind the bar to join Steve, letting him place his hand on the small of your back and guide you out of the clubhouse. 

He made it too easy to break the biggest rule in the book. 

—————

Steve drove you to a townhouse on the edge of town, the opposite direction from your own home. He took you there in his BMW, a shiny maroon car that looked brand new, with leather seats and shiny detailing on the dash. He didn’t touch you in the car, he just opened the door for you to get in and get out, only offering a hand that you took as you stood on his driveway. 

His house was lit up by lights on either side of the huge garage, another by the double doors. Three floors, a water feature in the front yard, a security system at the entrance. Steve pressed some buttons before something buzzed and clicked, and he opened the door with no grand flourish, extending an arm for you to enter first. 

Everything was sleek and polished, not quite the bachelor pad you expected, but luxurious all the same. Wooden floors and a large fireplace in the living room, the leather and suede of the clubhouse swapped out for a huge sectional, covered in cushions and throws. There was art on the walls, scenes of Greek tragedies, half naked women with dreamy looks on their faces, full curves and thick thighs. A shiny kitchen that looked barely used, bottles of scotch and whisky and gin on a golden bar cart in the corner, a full wall of books surrounding the biggest television you’d seen. The house smelled like Steve, like his cologne, like new leather and oak. 

His footsteps echoed across the room as he strolled into the kitchen, an open plan thing that let you watch him from where you stood by the front door. Steve held up a bottle of wine. Red, a label you recognised from work, something that Frederick charged far too much money for. In your opinion. 

“Drink?” Steve asked. 

You nodded, stepping into the room a little more. There were a few lamps on, a warm flow from each that cast shadows over the floor, up the walls. The curtains were closed, heavy drapes that kept out the night, kept in the secrets. Like you. 

Steve appeared at your side, passing you a glass filled with a little ruby coloured wine. He grinned at your quiet thanks and offered his own for a toast. The glasses clinked and you took a sip, dark cherries and bitter chocolate swirling your senses, or at least, you were sure they would’ve if you hadn’t decided to gulp it down. Steve laughed softly and took your empty glass, setting it on the coffee table with his own. There was a stack of big books in the middle of it, something about American architecture and cars of the sixties, a candle that had never been lit and a cigar box with his initials engraved on the lid. 

“Here, sit,” Steve suggested and you sank into the sofa with him. The boy immediately lounged back into the cushions, arms stretched out over the back of it as he appraised you, head tilted to his side. “You don’t do this often, huh?”

You turned to him, puzzled, your hands sliding nervously up and down your bare legs. Your dress suddenly felt shorter than ever and with the way Steve was looking at you - hungry, predatory, bold - you weren’t sure if you wanted to tug the hem down to your knees or take the full thing off and drop it at his feet. 

“Do what?”

Steve gestured to himself, to the huge living room you felt a little bit lost in. He smirked, “go home with guys you barely know.”

You swallowed thickly, wondering if it would seem rude if you reached out and stole the rest of his wine. If you’d feel braver and bolder if you were to gulp down more Malbec, if the price tag on the bottle would feel better on your tongue. “Not usually,” you said. You left out the part about how you’d be fired on the spot if your boss found out who you were going home with. 

Steve smiled, eyes shining at you like he thought you were cute. He patted the space on the couch beside him. It felt like a million miles away from you. “Come over here,” he said softly. You noticed how he didn’t ask, or suggest. It was an order, as gentle as it was. “I won’t bite.”

You scoffed a little, enjoying the irony of his words despite how he’d looked at you all night, like he wanted to sink his teeth into you, like he wanted to just eat you up. “You won’t?” You asked him, doubtful, even as you slid closer, your thigh brushing his. 

Steve dropped his hand to your knee, fingertips barely brushing your skin as she skimmed up and down, up and down. Each pass got him closer to the hem of your dress and you thought back to yesterday, in that stupid golf cart by the edge of the lake. How easy you made it for him, head thrown back, chest heaving, legs spread. You wanted that again, the feeling of his teasing fingers brushing up against the front of your underwear, lace this time, and already damp. 

Steve flashed a grin, all teeth, more bite than a smile and you resisted the urge to clamp your thighs together, trapping his hand between. You’d never been this hot for a guy, never been this easy to fold. You felt delicate with Steve, ready to crumple, ready to fold. 

“Not on the first date, no,” he assured you. 

Your brows rose into your hairline. “This is a date?”

Steve flattened his palm against your thigh and squeezed, leaning into you, nose brushing your cheek until you ripped your head for him and it skimmed the line of your jaw. Your breathing changed too quickly, stuttering to a hitch until it picked up, your eyes closing as you felt Steve’s lips brush against you in the briefest of touches. It wasn’t even a kiss. 

“What did you think it was?” Steve whispered, his words hot against your neck. You could smell his cologne, rich and peppery, could feel the slight stubble on his jaw scrape against your throat and you were desperate now, you needed him to kiss you. “What did you think I invited you here for, honey?”

His hand was higher now, fingers under the hem of your dress and you wanted to fall into him, you wanted to crawl into his lap and spread your legs, get properly dirty for him and pull your dress up around your hips and show him how you liked to be touched. Although, you had a feeling he wouldn’t need much help. “I, I don’t know—” you interrupted yourself with a gasp, Steve’s fingertips running along the lace edge of your underwear, teasing the crease of your thigh. “A one night stand, maybe.”

The boy laughed, a soft noise that was buried in the crook of your neck and he finally, finally, put his mouth on you. He kissed sweetly at the spot under your ear, grinned against it when you squirmed at the feel of him and then dragged his parted lips down the column of your neck. You felt the tip of his tongue, a tiny touch, teasing, warm and wet. 

“Just one night?” Steve tutted, letting his fingers slip underneath the edge  of your underwear. You were an elastic band now, pulled too right, fraught with unspent energy, ready to snap at the tension. “What if I wanted to keep you, hm?” His fingers ghosted over your folds, already slick and wet for him. If he was affected by it, he didn’t show it. He pulled at you gently, spreading you for him, a single digit touching your needy clit as he kept you open. It was filthy. “You’re too pretty for one night, aren’t you?”

You didn’t know what you were agreeing to, but you nodded anyway. You were sure you already looked wrecked, head slack and leaning against Steve’s shoulder, his lips now dotting over your hairline. Legs open, underwear pushed up and to the side by Steve’s hand, his one finger sliding up and down the seam of your cunt. The rubber band was getting tighter. 

Steve hummed, a deep, warm noise that rumbled in his chest. “Look at me, honey,” he ordered and you did as were told, eyes heavy and haze unfocused as you turned your head to face him. He was so close, the only evidence he was as turned on as you were, were his blown out pupils, his heavy eyelids. “There she is, oh sweetheart, you’re gone, huh?” he cooed. 

You thought he might kiss you then, you thought he might kiss you, finally. But he nuzzled his nose against yours - a surprisingly sweet thing - before he murmured, “take your clothes off for me.”

It was embarrassing, the way your lips parted and your cheeks went hot. You wondered if Steve felt it, the warmth that exploded from your skin at his words, the way your empty cunt clenched around nothing at his words. He gave you clit one more passing nudge before he moved his hands from you completely and sank back into the couch. One arm over the back of it, legs crossed, the other hand brought to his mouth so he could rub the finger he’d dipped along your pussy against his bottom lip. 

It was obscene. 

He nodded to the space between the sofa and the coffee table and licked his lips. “C’mon, honey, strip.”

You should’ve pulled down your dress and thrown what was left of his wine in his face before you slammed the door on your way out. This man, this rich boy with his big house and shiny car, was ordering you around like you were still at the clubhouse. Like he could flash his members only card and get what he wanted. He hadn’t even kissed you. He didn’t know your last name, and shit, the only reason you knew his, was because him and his family were at the top of the client list at the place you worked. 

You could lose your job over this. Worse, you could get your heart broken. 

Steve must’ve sensed your hesitation because he reached back over to brush your hair from your eyes, where it had fallen in a mess when you hid your face in the dip of his shoulder as he tapped at your clit again and again and again. He pouted, tsked in a way that sounded sympathetic. “Oh honey, are you shy?” Condescension dripped from him, words liquid gold, sticky sweet and trapping you. He ran the back of his knuckles down your cheek, his thumb dragging over your bottom lip. It was as close to a kiss as you would get. “It’s okay, hm? Am I not playing nice? Am I being rude?”

You didn’t know what to say. You were being sucked in by this man’s charm, his caramel coated words, the way his brown eyes turned soft as he took your hand and led you to stand up in the middle of his living room. “I’m sorry, honey,” Steve whispered. “How awful of me. Lemme try again, huh?” He kissed your cheek, a soft, lingering thing before he left you standing, sitting back in front of you once more. 

Steve pushed back his hair and let his eyes appraise you before he rolled his shirt sleeves up and leant back into the cushions. A king on his throne. And the entertainment for tonight? 

You. 

“Take your clothes off for me, honey,” he tried again, his voice softer this time, lower, dirtier. And then he smiled at you and added: “please.”

With shaking hands and a held breath that made your chest burn, you pulled the material down your shoulders, reaching around your back to tug at the zip. And when it fell open, exposing your skin to the warm air, it was too easy to let the entire dress fall down over your hips. It pooled at your feet and you stepped out of it, heels still on, legs covered in the sheer black stockings that the clubhouse made mandatory for poker nights. 

Steve’s lips made a little ‘o’ shape, an appreciative thing that made you pulse with need. You saw then how his dress trousers were tented at the front, an impressive bulge that twitched when you smoothed your hands over your upper thighs, a nervous reaction to being so exposed. 

“Oh,” Steve exhaled as he let his eyes rake over you. Soft skin between black lace, thigh highs pulled taught against your curves, tits pressed up in a bra you’d chosen as you thought him. You hoped he wouldn’t embarrass you, you hoped he wouldn’t ask you to do something like spin for him, show off for him. Because you would’ve. “Aren’t you a pretty fucking picture.”

He didn’t need to talk after that. He just lifted his chin towards your chest and you were pulling off your bra for him. You hated how the control of it all made you wetter, the space between your legs fucking throbbing as you waited for your next instruction. “Unless you want those ripped,” Steve was gazing at your underwear, eyes seeking out every dip and line he could make our in the wet lace. “I’d take them off too.” He didn’t let them hit the floor with the rest of your clothes, instead, extending one hand and crooking his fingers. 

A silent, ‘give them to me.’ 

And you did, watching as he slipped them into his trouser pockets, keeping his eyes on you, trailing them over your thighs that were slick with how wet he’d got you. He’d hardly touched you, you scolded yourself, not even a kiss. It was embarrassing, mortifying. It was the hottest thing that had happened to you. 

“Keep those on,” Steve murmured, talking about your heels and stockings. “And come sit back down for me, honey, yeah?” 

The fabric of the couch felt soft under your bare skin and you hesitated before you let yourself relax into it. There surely would be a wet spot underneath you, evidence of how turned on you were, but Steve didn’t seem to mind. 

“That’s it,” he encouraged softly. “Get comfy, hm? Such an agreeable, little thing aren’t you?” Steve was sliding off the couch as he spoke, one palm pressed to his crotch as if to stave off some of his own need. He knelt in front of you, mouth parting in a sigh as he dropped to eye level with your cunt. “Think you can spread those legs for me? Let me see you, honey, there’s a girl—”

He cut himself off with a low groan as you brought your feet up, heels on the edge of the couch as you spread your knees, sticky thighs parting. He could see all of you, fuck, he could probably smell you. The low light made every part of you glisten, the heavy rise and fall of your chest cast in an amber glow.  

“Oh she’s real fuckin’ pretty, isn’t she?” Steve asked you, eyes tearing away from your pussy to look up at you. “Spread ‘em wider for me, baby, can you do that?” Another moan from the boy as you let your knees fall apart, almost touching the couch. Steve smoothed his hands up your tights, bracketing your cunt before he did the same as before and pulled your folds even further apart. “Look at that,” he whispered. 

You couldn’t. You let your head fall back onto the cushion, eyes squeezed shut as you let your own hands fall onto your knees. You dug in your nails, crescent moon marks on your skin as your tried to keep a grip on reality. You were almost certain you’d come with just one touch. 

“Want my mouth?” Steve asked you and his voice was back to that sugar sweet drip, it was thick with an affection, like he was being so nice for taking care of you. You already wanted to thank him. “Want my tongue?”

His thumbs rubbed up and down your folds, keeping them spread apart, a dirty massage that made your clit pulse with each tiny movement. You nodded, letting out a uneven breath and Steve tutted. 

“You gotta look at me then, c’mon, Berkeley.” He nipped at your thigh, teeth biting at the skin and it made you cry out. “Look at me and tell me you want me to eat you out.”

Dirty, filthy, obscene, sinful. 

You were under no illusion that giving Steve an order made you the one in charge. He played you like a puppet, a boneless girl that wanted nothing more than to come all over this rich strangers sofa. You had a one track mind, no shame left, not when Steve was pressing his mouth over you folds, not licking into you, not yet. Just kissing. You wanted to cry. 

“Eat me out,” you begged, eyes glassy as you tried to lift your hips but Steve pulled away. He grinned at you, waiting. “Eat me out, please, Steve. Fuck, want your mouth yeah, please?”

“Where?” He asked, dragging it out. His voice was unholy. “Where do you want my mouth?” His thumbs were still moving, up and down and up and down. “Tell me.”

“My pussy, Jesus Christ,” you whined. You couldn’t ever remember being this pent up. “Please.”

“Oh,” Steve cooed, “she’s so polite.” And then he gave you no other warning, dipping his head so he could lick a stripe through your folds, the hot, wet contact of his tongue making you cry out. 

You were unraveling too fast. His thumbs had you taught for him, every part of you feeling his tongue, his lips. Steve groaned into you, a happy, pleased hum that told you whatever game this was, he’d won. He kept his tongue flat, slow, broad strokes of it going from your entrance to your clit until you were curling over him and clutching his hair, doing your best to not suffocate him. But Steve moaned louder and moved his hands to your hips, sliding down until they cupped under your ass and he encouraged you to grind against his face. Tongue still out, kept flat for you to rock yourself on. It was pornographic.  

Then Steve was mumbling into you, voice a rasp. “Good girl, honey, that’s it. Keep going, make yourself come on my tongue, yeah?”

So you did, obedient as ever, letting out a gasping cry as your legs shook, cunt still clenching around nothing ‘cause Steve had broken you with just his mouth. It was dirty hot, the way he dragged himself from your sensitive slit, tongue running over your folds even as you whined, licking over the crease of your thighs to get everything you’d spilled for him. You watched as he appeared between your knees, hair tousled, lips and chin shining in the low light, his cheeks flushed. It was ironic, how he looked more boyish after he made you come, expensive black shirt creased from where your legs had pressed against him, his own gaze a little fucked out. 

Logic would suggest that perhaps you’d get a kiss then, something soft and sweet to soothe you down before he fucked you senseless, before you got to wrap your own fingers or lips around him. Steve looked big, if the solid press of him against his trousers was anything to go by. Thick and still rock hard, an easy eight inches trapped taught against his thigh, just as impressive as his wealth and status. Your mouth watered. 

He kissed the inside of your knee instead, his heavy lidded gaze on yours before he offered you his hands to help you sit up and then said, “I better get you home.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Home,” Steve repeated. He passed you back your bra, your dress. Not your underwear though, no. They were still in his pocket. “I gotta be at the airport in—” he checked his watch, the picture of blasé. “—an hour.”

You pulled on your dress, a little speechless. This boy had just made you come harder than you’d ever managed yourself and now he was busying himself with lighting a cigarette he pulled from the packet in his pocket. Your eyes wandered, he was still hard. 

“What about,” you licked your lips, suddenly shy. You nodded towards his crotch, the absolute monster he packed in his slacks. “What about you?”

Steve grinned, bending down to peck your cheek as you wriggled into your uniform, trying to pull yourself back together. “I’ll live,” he told you, blowing out smoke as he spoke. “We’ll call it an IOU, huh? But my plane leaves soon, honey. I’ll cash that favour when I’m back.”

“When?” You blurted out. It sounded like something a girlfriend would demand to know and you cringed, but Steve kept smirking. He helped you slip on your heels, cigarette hanging from his lips that definitely tasted like you. 

“Unsure,” he told you casually, “there’s things I need to wrap up in Monaco before I can go to Tuscany for a few weeks. There’s problems at the vineyard and there’s a new plot I want to look at in Alassio too.”

All you heard was money money money. So you nodded and gave him a small smile, legs still a little wobbly from his touch, his mouth, his tongue. And when Steve dropped you off at the door of your too small apartment, he took your chin between his finger and thumb and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your jaw, just below your ear. 

The kiss goodnight to your lips didn’t come. You felt confused, a little stilted. But you got out the BMW and waved goodbye, wondering what you were supposed to do at three in the morning after Steve Harrington had tumbled your world upside down. 

PART TWO

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington oneshot

[slaterinc]

vivienne westwood black leather elevated court shoes from fw93

#vivienne westwood #fashion #slaterinc

[kquil]

REMUS LUPIN | 13:53 — ONE NEGRONI

SUM : to help pay the bills and your tuition fee, you get a new job at an elite club where the tips are incredibly generous. you’ve met a majority of the clientele already but they don’t match the stranger who ordered a simple negroni

TAGS. : mafia au ; modern au ; muggle au ; mobster remus ; mafia boss remus ; bartender reader ; reader is a hard working sweetheart that must be protected! ; catching remus’ eye ; remus lowkey wishes he can be the one to do the protecting ; and maybe more ; for now, he’s a low key stalker ; but sexy… ; stalking is bad, don’t do it! ; this is just fiction! ; but hey! remus owns an elite club! wooooo! ; i don’t know how to feel about my interpretation of the marauders as mafia men/mobsters ; it’s growing on me… ; also, im casting peter pettigrew as Dane DeHan in this!

LENGTH : 1.5k

It wasn’t as if you were new to the job; you had previously worked some years as a bar tender for a pretty well-established club, it paid well and managed to help pay for your rent and utility bills for most of your higher education years. However, all the built up stress and sleepless nights finally caught up to you. And you found yourself repeating a year, meaning that you needed to pay for your own tuition this year atop all the other monthly bills and necessities you keep up with. Perhaps it was the universe telling you that you needed to stop and change the direction of your life — you needed to choose an easier path, a doable path. But you were stubborn and also quite the optimist. So you kept at it, determined to finish what you started and earn your degree. 

Yes, it was a let down but you were still breathing. Life just gets hard sometimes. 

Thankfully, your past experience and phenomenal recommendation letter from your previous manager earned you another bar tending job at a very elite club, where tips were more than generous, considering the clientele composed primarily of the privileged class, some with multiple businesses under their belts, some who were phenomenal investors and some living off their parents’ money. You didn’t care to look too much into it, you were there to work and you were going to work hard and honestly. 

The patrons surprisingly had very similar tastes and so, you fond yourself making the same types of drinks repeatedly. It made the job a lot easier and you were able to focus more on your delivery and interaction with customers, leading to more tips. Times were rough after having to accept defeat with your studies and repeating a year with your own funding but things were looking up. If you keep at it, you’ll make it out alive. 

Your only complaint was the dress code. Make up was advised with a bold red lip but must be kept simple. You felt like a showgirl of some kind, squeezed into a high collar, white dress that came down to your mid thigh and with a low-cut, open back. The sleeves aren’t as long as you would like but, at least, you were permitted to use black kitten heel court shoe pumps as opposed to stilettos — your only saving grace, along with the higher salary and generous tips. 

“Looks like we have a newbie working the bar,” Sirius points out, drawing all attention to your lively figure as you served drinks with a sweet smile and airy voice. A hum of curiosity vibrates through Remus’ chest and up to his lips at the sight of you, “certainly easy on the eyes, huh?” the tattooed, right-hand comments again as he looks towards the head of the table where Remus holds up his glass of Negroni. 

“Very… innocent— a sweet, pretty, little thing,” James comments on Remus’ other side, which Peter grunts at in agreement as he takes a sip of his whiskey-sour. 

“Looks like she doesn’t belong,” Peter nods before smirking and letting out a light laugh. The domino effect had James and Sirius laughing too as Remus smirks behind his glass before proceeding to down the rest of his drink. 

“Exactly your type, eh? Moony?” 

Sirius’ teasing comment is ignored. Instead, Remus calls for there server and orders another drink with an additional request that only confirms his smirking friend’s disregarded statement, “Have the new bartender personally deliver my drink for me as well,”

There was no higher authority that could dismiss the club owner’s personal request. 

It was a strange request but you steeled your nerves and asked your fellow bartender to minister your unattended station while you made quick work on the order. It wasn’t unusual to receive requests like this from an isolated table that had privacy curtains for convenience. However, it was usually for drinks that you could make a show out of like a Holy Water cocktail, a Phoenix cocktail and even a Dragon’s Blood cocktail — a performance that you liked partaking in for the flammable aspect. But this was a Negroni. A cocktail of equal parts gin, saccharine vermouth and bitter Italian Campari. It’s a very egalitarian drink that was enjoyed by everyone, men and women alike, simple but elegant and definitely didn’t require a performance. Despite the odd summons, you were eager to fulfil your curiosity for who the client may be. 

With a professional smile, you place refined mix in the middle of your circular tray with it’s classic orange garnish and set off to the table. The standby server, who made the order, saw your approach and quickly announced your arrival through the small front opening, momentarily disappearing into the shadow of the curtains. He reappears a moment later and pulls the heavy drapes fully apart, to reveal the guests from beneath the, once, opaque shadows. 

To say that you were stunned was an understatement. 

It was pure luck that you didn’t stutter in your stride and spill the cocktail prematurely. At the table was seated four men, all dressed in suits and ties that were in various states of disorder. Among their collection of suits, you could spot Armani and Tom Ford, however, you were sure that their unconventional styles were not the way those suits were intended to be worn. 

One man with long, midnight-black hair and paper-pale skin had an array of mismatching tattoos littering both arms, revealed to you by his lack of a suit jacket and rolled-up sleeves. Another wore cute circular glasses and a cheeky grin with a suit jacket but no button up shirt and his chiseled upper body on full display. The last was a dirty blonde with piercing eyes and a deceivingly boyish smile. He had his ankle propped up on his opposite knee and several buttons undone where a tie should have been fastened over, his sleeves also rolled up as his suit jacket lay beside him.

It was the man at the head of the table, however, who stole your attention. If you had to guess who ordered such a simple but elegant drink, it would have to be him. He had his suit jacket draped over his broad shoulders and also had several of his top buttons undone, revealing some faded scars marked across his toned chest. His neat brunette hair and kind brown eyes gave him a deceivingly gentle appearance but his close company revealed a duplicity that caught and tensed your nerves.

You ignored the creeping goosebumps that prickled your skin, down from your toes all the way up to your ears. 

Just do your job…

“Gentlemen,” you addressed kindly with a slight tilt of your head, which they acknowledged with their own hums of acknowledgement, their eyes lighting up in subtle surprise at your actions, “I have an order for a Negroni,” you raise your tray with the drink and scan the four for some indication as to who the order belonged to. 

“That would be for me,” just as you suspected, it was the brunette with the kindest eyes but also the most ominous air. His voice is a deep and smooth lullaby, patient with it’s seduction on your senses. It was a trap that you resisted but are so hopelessly tempted to fall into, “Thank you, sweetheart,” he meets your eyes as you lower the drink into his large, outstretched hand. You notice how his knuckles and fingers are littered with scars also, some fresh, some faded with time and some hidden behind luxurious rings. Nevertheless…

He’s beautiful 

She’s precious 

“Not a problem,” you reassure with a soft voice, “have a good evening,” with your circular tray pressed against your side, you offer him an innocent smile and dismiss the butterflies in your stomach urging you to linger, “gentlemen,” you acknowledge the remaining three once more before offering another sweet smile. Turning on your heel, you leave the group and ignore the stares drilling holes into the back of your head.

She doesn’t know… 

Once you were out of earshot, Remus turns to his closest friends and most trusted colleagues. They all share a look, one that conveys a unanimous thought. It isn’t long before their agreement manifests into knowing smiles and a ring of laughter shared between them.

“Don’t get greedy now, Moony,” Peter chimes in as Sirius throws his head back with a barking laugh. 

“That’s not gonna stop him Wormtail, you know that; she’s a rare one,”  

“So what’s the plan, bossman?” James asks with a raised brow as he brings his drink up to his lips.

Remus doesn’t answer right away, he simply requests that the curtain remain open so he can fix his fond gaze on you for the remainder of the evening. The group already knew what to do and sat at the edge of their seats, awaiting orders eagerly despite their slack shoulders and composed expressions. Only they were able to observe the shift in the air between them; it became charged as soon as you entered their circle and slowly started accelerating, parallel to the climbing affection in Remus’ eyes as he watches you smile at customers while making their drinks. 

He takes a singular sip of his Negroni, bitterly sweet with a citrus edge. 

Heaven in a glass. And made by an angel. 

“I want a background check and profile put together immediately,” Remus finally orders, “I want to know everything there is to know about her,”

A/N : i downloaded some fics and read some over the holidays and there some mafia/mobster aus and i couldn’t help but picture remus as a mob boss, i’m sure im not the only one to ever imagine this but goddamn! why is it so easy to imagine sweet, gentle, responsible remus like that?!

NAVI.

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @ashreblogsficshere @cassandra-nerezza-black @stray-bi-kids @ttkttt @notasadgirlipromise @desikudisworld @volturissideslut @arilxup88 @rosalyn-s

#remus lupin #☽ : timestamp #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fic #remus x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin fanfiction #the marauders #marauders #remus lupin mafia boss au #mafia au #mobster au

[zegalba]

Vivienne Westwood: Black Mock-Crock Super Elevated Court Shoes, autumn/winter 1993

#vivienne westwood #shoes #footwear #high heels #black #platform #court shoes #runway #fashion #aw93 #1993

[milswrites]

Hobbies Part 6.

~Azriel X Reader ~

Summary: In an attempt to keep Azriel away from Elain, Rhys sends him on a sabbatical to the Day Court. With a lot more free time on his hands Azriel needs to find something to keep him occupied. Unfortunately he meets Y/N who has the annoying habit of not staying away. Can she teach him that there’s more to life than he thought?

Grumpy!Azriel X Sunshine!Reader

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Lil bit of fluff at the start and then nice and angsty

Y/N couldn’t sleep. She had tossed and turned for hours, trying to settle her swirling thoughts so she could rest but her attempt to sleep was fruitless. How could she sleep after having the most incredible night of her life? Azriel had blown away her expectations, doing more for her than anyone had ever done in her life. She didn’t even mind that he had rejected her invitation for him to come into her home. Azriel was a smart male, he most likely didn’t want to rush things and she most definitely did not want to scare him away.

But he had agreed to meeting again tomorrow and the thought of that alone was enough to flood her body with excitement. Hence her lack of ability to fall asleep. As she laid in her bed, she wondered if Azriel was in the same position as her. Wide awake in his bed reliving the perfect evening that the two had shared.

Ever since she had met Azriel it was obvious he was the most handsome male she had ever met. She never blamed him for his anger and pain that he took out on her, it was understandable after being dumped in an unfamiliar Court by those he called family.

Whilst she had no family of her own, having grown up an orphan in her Court, Y/N was sure she would react in the same way if she were in his shoes and so every time Azriel had snapped and shouted at her she reminded herself of this.

She wasn’t even meant to get as involved in this as she was. Yes Helion had asked her to keep an eye on him and make sure he was comfortable in the Court, but he hadn’t made her spend as much time with him as she ended up doing. No one could have predicted what had blossomed between the pair.

Deciding that she just wasn’t going to get any rest tonight, not with the memory of Azriel’s lips on hers still fresh in her mind, Y/N slipped from her bed and made her way to the room she had dedicated to sewing.

Sitting down with a contented sigh she held up the tunic she had been making for Azriel. A matching one to the cobalt blue dress she had made herself. She had begun making it after their talk while riding the horses, the blush at the thought of Azriel wearing something she had made stayed on her face the whole ride back to the city and refused to leave until she had arrived back at her home and decided to start working on something for him.

It wasn’t easy to produce, not with Y/N being unfamiliar with how to sew clothes for people with wings, but she had managed it (but not without many failed attempts). A few more hours tonight and it would be finished, leaving her able to present it to him tomorrow.

It took longer than expected, hands delicately sewing the silver thread into the intricate designs of the Illyrian tattoos she had spent hours studying the drawings of from books about Illyria in Helion’s library. The sun had long risen when Y/N finally finished the piece, a golden glow settled in the room, sparkling against the metallic sheen of the thread like stars twinkling in the night sky.

Now complete, Y/N lovingly wrapped the tunic in a black paper before securing the packing with a dark blue velvet bow, reminiscent of the Night Court colours Azriel always wore.

Not wanting to wait any longer before seeing the male, she bathed hurriedly and dressed once more in the now matching dress to the tunic she had made Azriel. Gathering the gift in one arm and the bag of painting supplies she had put together earlier for the days activity in the other hand.

~~~~~

Y/N rushed to Azriel’s flat, now very familiar with the route between their two residences having walked there plenty of times.

Once she reached the building he resides in, Y/N stopped outside for a moment to compose herself, butterflies dancing in her stomach. She allowed her uneven breathing from practically running here to return to normal, knowing Azriel would likely find away to tease her for her flustered state.

Once Y/N had waited long enough that she was sure there was no way Azriel could call her out on her desperation to see him, Y/N entered the building and made her way to his door, placing the bag of paints down and knocking to alert him of her presence.

Her attention goes to the crack at the bottom of the door where his mischievous shadows usually peak out in curiosity whenever she turns up here. There was no movement this time. However, it wasn’t uncommon for Azriel to take a while answering the door, Y/N could have sworn that one time she had knocked he had been out and crawled through his window upon his return before answering the door. Or at least that’s what she had inferred from the muffled bang that sounded from somewhere in the flat and the heavy panting he had been doing.

Y/N knocked once more in hope that he would hear it but there was no answer. Perhaps he had gone to the market. His cupboards were bare when she had been in the flat with him yesterday, having used some items for their baking. Deciding to wait for him to return Y/N sat down in the corridor, legs stretched out facing his door.

Unsure of how much time had passed since she sat on the ground, Y/N looked to find something to cure her growing boredom as she waited for the Illyrian to turn up and so she pulled out the paints and a canvas from her bag, electing to pass the time through painting until Azriel arrived.

It took a while for her to decide what to paint, having found she now had plenty of inspiration after the past few weeks she had spent with the shadow singer. Finally Y/N decided upon painting the view from the sky last night, a constant reminder of the promise made between the two of them. The promise to travel the world together.

Tongue between her teeth Y/N did her best to accurately represent what she saw last night. Her memory of the view slightly blurred as most of her focus had been on the male whose arms she had been wrapped in. The painting was a swirl of black and blue skies, spattered with glowing stars, the bottom depicting the illuminated city, Y/N trying her best to paint the intricate architecture of the day court buildings.

It wasn’t long before her painting was pretty much complete and yet there was still no sign of Azriel. Perhaps he was at the training ground? Packing up the paints, Y/N rested her artwork against his door to allow for it to dry before leaving the bag of supplies next to it, trusting that no one would take it.

Y/N grabbed the gift she had made from the floor and stood. She would surprise Azriel at the training ground. She would give him the gift there and chide him for being late and forgetting he had planned something with her.

Butterflies growing once more at the anticipation of seeing him, Y/N hurried to the grounds where she hoped Azriel would be. There was no frustration growing in Y/N at his absence from the flat, instead there was just the excitement of seeing him train. There’s something about seeing him in his element that she couldn’t help but be attracted to, and she would never pass on the opportunity to stare at his muscled figure as he worked. Especially not now she could appreciate it openly.

Arriving at the training grounds Y/N was disappointed by the fact that he wasn’t there. The only people training in the arena being some of Helion’s army that she vaguely recognised the faces of.

Disheartened Y/N turned to leave, wondering if she should check the gardens. It’s likely he could have gone there to clear up the mess of the picnic the two of them had forgotten to clear away last night, distracted by the intoxicating presence of each other.

As she began walking away from the grounds Y/N was stopped by the calling of her name. Hope growing in her chest she whipped around, eyes scanning for Azriel, only to be met with one of the soldiers, who had been training, jogging towards her. “Y/N right?” He asked as she attempted to put a smile on her face in greeting as she nodded at him, “Helion’s been looking for you! He wanted to meet.”

“Ah ok. Thank you!” She tried to sound appreciative but it came out more depressed than she had planned. Y/N supposed if she went and met with Helion then it may give Azriel time to return from wherever he was. Gift still in hand and now feeling exhaustion creep in from her lack of sleep and rushed trailing around, she made her way to the palace.

~~~~~

“Y/N you are looking as divine as always” Helion charmed as he kissed her hand upon entering his office. “Been doing some shopping?” He asked curiously, eyes locked on the gift being supported in her other arm.

“What? Oh yeah, just a bit of shopping because I haven’t been able to find Azriel today.” Y/N lied, not quite ready to share what was growing between her and Azriel with Helion yet. She was sure he’d be happy for her, having tried to set her up with numerous people over the years, yet Y/N was still anxious that whatever her and Azriel’s relationship was it didn’t fall under her workplace guidelines.

“And that’s exactly why you’re here!” Helion said as he took Y/N’s free hand and led her over to the sofa in his office where she placed the gift down next to her as she sat, confused as to why he would want to talk about Azriel with her. Maybe they hadn’t been as discrete as she thought.

“What about Azriel?” She asked as casually as she could, trying to hide her growing anxiety.

“Oh well he’s gone now so it’s time to reassign you. Get back to your other jobs now the time has freed up again, I thought you could start by going to the outer village and - …Y/N are you ok?” Helion trailed off noticing how her eyes had suddenly widened and her breath caught in her throat.

“What do you mean he’s gone?” She asked in disbelief, doing her best to dampen the betrayal she was feeling not wanting it to show on her face. She knew that one day he’d eventually have to return to the Night Court but she assumed he would have said goodbye. That they would have planned some form of communication between them and promised to visit each other.

“Rhysand sent a message this morning, said the shadow singer left last night…What’s wrong Y/N?” He tentatively asked, a comforting hand resting on her shoulder.

“I’m fine!” She said a little too quickly. Helion was her friend but the last thing she wanted was for him to be pressing her about this, especially when she felt as though she was about to burst into tears, “Just surprised he was gone that’s all…Now what was the job you needed doing?”

Helion didn’t buy it, Y/N could tell that much. She knew the man cared for her. He had always supported her and been a good friend whenever she needed someone, even helping her by giving her the job she has now. But if she had to look at his concerned face for another minute then she definitely would start sobbing. As if sensing this he continued with describing Y/N’s next task, every once in a while flicking his worried eyes to her watery ones.

Once this was done, Y/N was quick to jump onto her feet, grabbing the gift which now felt much heavier in her arms than it had when she walked into the room.

Helion took her in once more, eyes raking over her dress, realisation crossing his face before asking, “That’s a pretty dress Y/N, did you make that?”

It now hurt for her to even look at the item of clothing she wore, instead she let her eyes drift around the room, looking anywhere else than the clothing that reminded her painfully of the man who was now gone.

“Yes. Thought I’d pick up sewing again.” She replied bluntly, struggling to hold the tears at bay.

“It’s an unusual colour,” Helion pressed, “not like what you normally wear.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t suit me.” With that Y/N left his office finishing the conversation, afraid of what he was going to say next.

As she raced through the corridors, frantically searching for the nearest exit, Y/N couldn’t stop the tears that were now streaming down her face and fogging her vision. He was gone. Azriel had left without even saying goodbye.

He had returned to his home, the place he had so badly wanted to return to. Y/N couldn’t stop the horrible thoughts that flooded her brain and pierced her heart. Perhaps all she had ever been to Azriel was a distraction. Something to keep him busy until he could get back to his normal life. Maybe the kiss was born from his pity for the lonely Day Court girl who had forced her way into his life against his will.

She sobbed loudly, gripping the led-weight box in both her arms and drawing it tightly to her chest. Azriel was gone.

Part 7

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes: A little bit from Y/N’s perspective to rip your hearts out :(

Taglist:

@minnieoo @thelov3lybookworm @going-through-shit @iluvyewman-blog @laughterafter @amysangel @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @aaronwarnerobsessedmylove @justvibbinghere @honeybeeboobaa @willowpains @tele86 @mysticalfuncollectorus @mybestfriendmademe @starryhiraeth @gorlillaglue25 @moonlwghts @darling006 @anuttellaa @serendipityx150 @xxxalicerogersxx @that-one-little-soybean @scatteredstardustt @naturakaashi @nyx-the-alien @lostinpages13 @namelesssav @dreamlandreader @fightmedraco @maxmouse001 @amara-moonlight @aunicornmademedoit @spideytingley @iamjimintrash @one-big-fangirl @tsunami-of-tears

#acotar #fanfic #acotar imagine #azriel x reader #sarah j maas #azriel imagine #a court of thorns and roses

[nokkihy]

BUMP, SET, SPIKE!

genre : flufff | pairing : miles42 x volleyball player!black fem reader

authors note : i cringed writing the title goodbye 😭 hate it when people say that it makes my toes curl and not in a good way.. anyways got a fic based off these hcs coming tmrw 🙏🏾🙏🏾

miles morales who is at ALL of your games, always sitting in the student section or just anywhere you can see him when you look in the stand

miles morales who memorizes all of your cheers. he doesn’t do them during the games obviously but he thinks its cool how yall are so in sync when you do them

miles morales who comes to the gym with you and shags your balls

miles morales who is absolutely terrified of you when you get a kill, especially when he can hear your hand slapping the ball

miles morales who takes pictures of you playing all the time, #prophotographer

miles morales who complains about the shitty calls the refs made after the game when the two of you are cuddling up

miles morales who can be seen walking back and forth from the concession stand to the game because those chick fil a sandwiches be hittin the spot

miles morales who argues with his girlfriend about wearing basketball shoes for volleyball saying that “ball shoes were made for ball”

miles morales who stops talking when you remind him that basketball and volleyball are played on the same court and have the same dynamic movements

miles morales who loves watching his girlfriend practice and play the sport she loves 🫶🏾

@ nokkihy , all rights reserved

#miles morales #across the spiderverse #spiderman #miles morales x reader #miles morales x y/n #miles g morales #miles gonzalo morales #miles morales fluff #prowler miles #1610 miles x reader #miles morales fanfiction #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles morales prowler #black reader

[ch4mpagnedrought]

friendly game

[full series]

mdni ! art, tashi, patrick

summary: pinning two of the greatest tennis players of our future will not work with you and tashi, in fact, you’ve learnt to share your prizes.

deep breaths. you take deep breaths when taking your racket out of its bag, all five fingers wrapping around the grip tightly, that is so intensely watched by two pairs of curious eyes from above in the stands, inaudibly gawking at the way your black tennis dress, sporting a small nike logo above your left breast, flourishes from around your thighs to expose the surfaces of your skin that don’t see the sun very often.

maybe the single most important game at the 2006 US open, between two upcoming tennis prodigies that also happen to be best friends. an oxymoron on the court really, tashi’s in white, you in black, her in adidas, you in nike, her hair in a tight braid, yours slicked into a low bun. eyes are torn completely apart as the both of you travel across the court, rebutting every single one of each others moves like a choreographed dance, the jaws of your audience slacked open. everybody remains paralysed, leaving the squeaks of your shoes and the heavy grunts of your labour to echo across the stands—until hands grip onto neighbouring knees and the final shot is swung.

“yes!” you shriek, throwing your racket to the ground in ecstasy, letting it bounce back behind you and the strings to shrivel from the force. from across the court, tashi heaves with squinted eyes, watching your celebration with parted lips and stepping closer to the net where you meet her—your arms wrapping around each others glistening shoulders and chests pressing firmly against one another, “good game” she tilts her head to whisper her appraisals and you hum a sweet note, flashing her a smile while the two men blink down at you. their minds completely empty apart from a state of euphoria, seeing two of the most beautiful women they had ever laid their eyes on embrace after a game that was essentially life or death. already replaying the erotic extensions of your legs at every side step, hips swivelling and slender arms extending to shape an image from within the deepest depths of their minds.

the same way that they stood completely still and fixated onto the images of you at the celebratory party hosted for you and tashi. the blonde haired boy taking sips of his drink between all the thoughts that expel from the image of you, mid underhand serve, and run through his mind. while the other faces an image of tashi, mid overhead, and tries not to make it obvious that his gaze slips into imagining anything other than what is underneath those clothes she endorses.

even when you notice their toying eyes, approaching you sat knee-to-knee with tashi at a table having just spent the last twenty minutes dancing with one another that hadn’t gone unnoticed by them either, “art donaldson and patrick zweig, right?” their eyes are momentary frozen wide before art exhales an exasperated breath, choking up on nothing. “in the flesh” patrick mumbles, fidgeting with the rim of his coke bottle. your eyes dart from one boy to another, left to right, both of their shoulders tensing as they watch tashi’s lips uncurl from the pink straw of her orange drink, guiding the bottle towards your own lips, pressing the straw into your mouth nonchalantly to share a sip of the beverage, and the sweetness of her lip gloss.

“that, that game…it was seriously breathtaking” art chokes out to the both of you, looking down admirably at you and noticing the small freckles the sun has peppered on your nose that hadn’t been visible from the top of the stands. tashi thanks him, putting the straw back into her own mouth and projecting a mental image of you and her swapping more than saliva into patrick’s mind.

his feet shuffle on the spot, shaking away the thought, “you dealt with the loss much better than i would’ve.” lightheartedly he jokes, gesturing towards tashi and sending her a small smile, “how do you two stay friends?”

“we’ve been friends since childhood,” tashi takes a glance at you, but you’re already looking back, “there’s no bad blood, we learn from eachother.” the palm of her hand flattens on your thigh momentarily, leaning back further into the couch. patrick and art huff, elbowing one another, “just like us.”

they flatter the two of you, showering you with compliments, all while trying to make it seem as if they hadn’t been discussing what exactly they would say to you for the past couple hours, until you and tashi were standing in front of their hotel room door, silently leaning closer to hear whatever was going on inside. “they don’t have time to come here” a muffled voice speaks from behind the door, and another groans loudly.

you and tashi share a small smirk, holding back laughter when she knocks on the door to hear a sudden ruckus.

“hi” “hey” they sing simultaneously, mouths agape like two little dogs, panting at the sight of a treat, or drooling at the ring of a bell. neither you nor tashi even have the time to greet them, patrick opening the door a little wider and beckoning you inside, coming together on the floor of the questionably coloured carpet with a single can of beer in the middle.

patrick leans back onto his hands. “so, when did you two become friends?” tashi points a finger between the two, wrapping her arms around her knees and tilting her head in curiosity. “we’ve been bunkmates since we were twelve” he answers, and art glances down at his crossed legs with a nervous smile. you nod your head, whispering a small “cute” under your breath and brushing patrick’s wrist with your fingers when taking the beer he offers, making the hairs on his arms stand upright. the beer is warm and bitter, and you pass the can to tashi after leaving a wet imprint of your lips that art would try to discreetly swipe his tongue over only moments later.

“you share girls often?” you ask and patrick’s brows quirk up, corner of his mouth tilting upwards. “this is our first time.” art says, pinkish blush spreading across his nose and the apples of his cheeks that implies his mind is drifting somewhere else. “why? are we not your type?” tashi laughs, leaning over towards art and tucking her hair behind her ears, his eyes following her closely, “aren’t you two everybody’s type?”

the boys shift in their positions, patrick lifting his hips up into the air briefly to get a little more comfortable and art pressing his hands into his knees, sharing a glance between them. all of the breath you exhale meshes into a palpable energy, and your gaze switches between art and patrick in a way they’ve already grown to love, their faces twitching with an eager awkwardness, “are you each other’s type?”

art chuckles out, “no…no.” he denies with a head shake, patrick peering over his shoulder at him silently, “no, we’ve never done anything like that.”

your’s and tashi’s eyes meet briefly, lips turning up into a smile.

“well…” patrick begins and art immediately jerks his head towards him, hoping that he wasn’t about to say the one thing he didn’t want to share, “i mean…”

“patrick, no.”

“don’t be shy, you have to tell us now” you tempt, a playful glint in the glance you give art.

patrick clears his throat, “you know, i just, taught art how to jerk off” he explains casually art’s right of passage while he holds his head in shame, painting an image of him being covered in his own ejaculation, over his stomach and legs like he had just “spilled milk” all over himself.

“that was a really adorable story” tashi hums, placing a hand on your shoulder to hoist herself up from the floor, and reaching out to help you up too. two pairs of eyes follow you around intently, admiring the tips of your fingers that swipe over various objects in their hotel room and feeling a little embarrassed about how obvious it is that they cleaned it only around 10 minutes ago. random pairs of boxers making an appearance from underneath the two single beds that they had pushed together, and an alarming amount of cigarette ash on the surface of the drawers.

tashi’s hand finds your wrist and guides you onto their bed where you take a seat patiently, criss-crossed, waiting for one of the boys to catch on and join you, while they are utterly immersed in the idea that the two of you are real and really in their bed.

silently, you usher them towards you with a tilt of the head, both of them jumping to their feet, basically leaping onto the bed so all four of you make a square, knees very slightly brushing against one another. theres a silent anticipation, tension weaving around all of you and luring your bodies closer. you take a quick look at each of their faces, their dilated pupils and irregular breaths, and move your lips closer to art’s, watching him inhale deeply like he wants to take all the air from your lungs for himself. then patrick, that selfishly attempts to lean his face closer before you can pull away.

you look towards tashi, who inches her face closer to yours, lips parted slightly and meeting in the middle for a kiss. in your peripheral vision, it’s hard not the notice the way that art and patrick are restraining themselves from punching a fist into the air out of joy, loud and shallow breaths caressing your cheeks. your mouth opens wider, leaning in deeper to consume every part of tashi’s lips in a hungry craze while her hand reaches into your hair to pull you closer. the two other men that keenly wait had slipped out of mind, still staring with a captivated stillness when you pull away from one another.

all you have to do is lean back onto your hands for art to pounce onto the side of your neck that becomes exposed, while patrick leans in to plant a kiss onto tashi’s jaw. on the surface their lips travel across the curve of your necks, heads fallen back, suctioning until they can taste the flavour of your perfume that lingers on your skin, while your hands exchange messily beneath; art’s touch feathering on your arm and reaching for tashi’s shoulder, and patricks arms intertwining with art’s to extend and touch your’s and tashi’s thighs.

patrick nuzzles his lips into divot the beneath tashi’s ear, journeying across her shoulder and onto your own in one smooth line, nearly head-butting with art when he shuffles to grace tashi with the same tender attention.

your hands scrunch into patrick’s dark hair, body involuntarily aching until you draw him closer to your face by the chin to connect with his lips. he balances himself in front of you, planting his hands at your sides to allow him to move even closer to you all while tashi hums into art’s gently mingling lips.

pulling back from patrick, you move onto art’s swollen mouth that glistens with lip gloss, tasting the remnants of tashi and yourself on them. all four of your faces coming together in the middle, so close that there is a dangerous lack of oxygen.

tongues pressing flat on top of another, swiping over bottom lips to feel every ridge and an accumulation of hot air. you become lightheaded at the different hands that grope over your figure, being pulled in by the back of your neck. there’s a contrast in the way each one of them kisses; tashi’s lips are familiar and firm, patrick’s are similar in their starved manner, and art’s yearn to take every molecule you are made of and ingest it.

tashi catches on immediately to the way that your left hand squeezes hers and pulls back to leave only art and patrick breathlessly grasping onto the others torso, noses pressing against each other at every tilt of the head and tongues slipping astray. the moment is only short, you and tashi glancing at one another, unbothered at whether they have noticed that you’re gone or secretly fulfilling a guilty hankering.

“okay.” tashi says, slapping her palms across her legs and sending a smile at the two boys. bottom lips slicked with one another’s saliva they remain frozen, only inches apart.

“goodnight, we have an early morning tomorrow.” you buzz, patrick and art separating only to let you slide past them on the bed, tashi following close behind and you wrapping your arms around her bicep absentmindedly.

neither one of them are able to make a sound, mouthing a “goodnight” that isn’t audible, admiring the way both of your curly brown hair sways behind you, walking out in the matching shorts they wonder if you ever swap.

they look at one another, then at the imprints in the floral blanket that your bodies left, scrunches where exactly you sat that they are both ready to smush their faces into. all while you and tashi stand outside of their hotel room once again, tuning in to the muffled dialogue about art’s grandmother before scurrying down the hotel hallway—hand in hand.

#challengers #challengers x reader #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #tashi duncan x reader #art donaldson #art donaldson smut #art donaldson x you #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson fic #patrick zweig #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig imagine #patrick zweig fic #tashi duncan #tashi duncan smut #tashi duncan x you #tashi duncan fic

[ilovebuckers5]

⋆.ೃtreat me better ࿔*:･

paige Bueckers x fem!reader

words : 3k

themes :

-angst

-18+

-comfort

warnings :

-drinking

-slight sexual content

-homophobia

A/N - I got this idea at like 2 am and it took me three days to write it but I love it tbh.

No matter how close the game was, the girls will always go out after a win. Most times I choose to not tag along since i'll probably get pushed aside. This time Paige and the girls came home more excited than usual. They made it to the final four. I was laying on the couch watching a couple episodes of friends when the doorknob of my apartment shook open. The sound of Paige's keys jingling single handily lifted me off the couches cushions. My eyes lit up even more when Paige's bright eyes met with mine.

I was originally just a trainer for Paige when she tore her ACL but during all of that, I was also trying my best to improve my volleyball career. Once I realized that being Paige's trainer would lead to a bit more, I also realized that I would get invested in everything else. Now that she was healed I tagged along the other girls, helping them out when no one was there to help with their own injuries. Finally, the season was almost over. All the other people that helped out with the teams injuries were back and ready to work. So this was my chance to get back on the volleyball court and actually pursue something. Paige was there the whole way. Anytime I would push her away so that she could focus on her own goals she would say something along the lines of "you helped me so much y/n I can't just not give anything back" and I just couldn't say no when she had that sexy of a voice. Who said that. Everything was chill, me and Paige stayed friends and we helped each other reach our goals. It felt nice to have such a good friend by my side with all that I was going through.

Paige walked through the door and her bright blue eyes met mine. She had a couple tears of joy in her eyes ready to fall and once they did I was ready to gently wipe them away. I wrapped my arms around her torso while hers were lifting me up in the air. Wow she never did that before. A loud giggle left my mouth when i noticed that I was in the air now. The blondes arms had a tight grip on my waist, keeping me up with stability. When she finally let me down all she did was jump around the living room like a child. "Did you see me and Nika's blocks?" She yelled across the room while I stood in place with my hands on my hips. A very entertained look was on my face while I watched Paige leap through the living room. "Yes i did! I saw everything!" I rushed up to Paige to hold her in place and calm her down. Before I could pull her into another hug, our phones buzzed at the same time. Paige pulled hers out first and looked down at a text from KK asking if we were up for a party tonight. Without hesitation Paige grabbed onto my wrists and shook them around while begging for me to come with. "Are you serious Paige? We do this every time, i don't like parties...." Paige kept on whining while giving me puppy dog eyes. I guess this once wouldn't be bad.

WRONGGGG

So I gave in and went to my bathroom to get ready. Most of Paige's stuff was here already so she didn't bother going back to the teams house to get ready. I spent around 45 minutes getting ready. I don't know why. It's not like there would be anyone important there. It's just a party. Nothing more. I dragged the mascara wand against my eyelashes while blinking to dry them quicker. I took one last look in the mirror before going to my closet to pick out an outfit. My eyes were immediately drawn to a black tube top and some jean shorts. It was probably going to be cold outside so I grabbed a red zip up to cover my bare collarbones and shoulders. The only shoes I could find were my red converse which I was kind of lucky to have. I walked out of my walk-in closet to find Paige sitting on the edge of my bed, putting on a pair of shoes. The moment i stepped out, Paige's eyes were very obviously clinging to my body. She tried to hide the fact that she was staring hard at my top by complimenting me quickly. "Shit you look good! Everyone's gonna be on you..." Her words dragged on with very clear tones of jealousy. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a red button up flannel. Fuck me.

Once I had grabbed my purse and some lip balm, Paige held my hand while walking out the door and I locked it behind us. We walked over to Paige's car and the moment we got inside it was Drake on repeat. She sadly grabbed the aux before I could. The entire drive was filled with Paige's voice cracking every other lyric and me pretending to not know every line. The bar that the girls decided to be at seemed way nicer than the others. Of course I may have not been out either the girls a lot but the times that I was, most of the places they partied at were just a tad bit sketchy. Paige parked her car next to Aubrey's and stepped out of the car before brushing off her shirt by sliding her hands down her chest. She clearly wanted to look presentable. The second I heard Chase Atlantic playing on the speakers I couldn't resist from singing, almost screaming, to the lyrics. I waved to a couple of the girls who were sitting at a booth right ahead of me and Paige.

"What took ya'll so long?" KK said before shoving Paige's shoulder with a wide smile on her face. "This one did" Paige said gesturing behind her to me. "She must have someone to impress huh" Ice teased me while poking at my hip. I let out a forced laugh knowing that they were right. "Nuh uhhh. I just like doing my makeup to go out..." I lied quickly. Before anyone could make anymore remarks on how i cared about my appearance, Nika came around the corner with a plate of shots for everyone. I jumped up once she set down the cup and wrapped my arms around her back. "NIKA!" I squealed, clinging myself onto Nika's body. She leaned back a little, almost falling back from the intensity of my hug. "Woah! Heyyy!" Her arms settled around my waist, melting into my back. My eyes were shut against Nika's skin but when I opened them I saw Paige staring the both of us down with not an ounce of happiness on her face. I tried my best to not react but jesus it was hard. Is Paige Bueckers, my best friend, jealous that i'm hugging her teammate? Or am I just tweaking.

I stepped away from Nika and gave her a squeeze on her forearm before pulling Paige to the side and whispering to her. "You good? You looked pissed at me just right now." She did nothing but nod. Just a simple nod. She took a sip of her drink before going over to talk with Azzi. I looked around the building to see if there were any other girls scattered around the place but for the most part everyone seemed to be in the same place. I walked up to the table of our booth and took a shot before leaning my head on Paige's shoulder. Most people viewing from afar would think that we were dating but I swear we have no feelings for each other. Paige doesn't at least. I had been messing around with the short sleeve of Paige's flannel when I felt someone tap my shoulder. I spun around to find one of my old volleyball teammates staring at me. I didn't realize it was her until she gave me that 'bitch do you not know me' look. I gasped louder than ever before wrapping my arms around the girl. "Oh my God Liv?! What are you doing here?" I squealed while pulling myself out of the hug. "I transferred a couple months ago! I saw on your Instagram that you went here and decided to surprise you. Plus my boyfriend plays for the basketball team so..." I turned around to pull Paige over in Liv's direction to introduce the two girls. "Paige this is Liv!" I say, frantically tapping the blondes shoulder. "Remember we played volleyball together in high school?" Paige was silent but seemed chill. She just kept of nodding in agreement with the same enthusiasm I was giving her. "I'm gonna go catch up with her ok? Don't dance without me p!" I yelled out while walking across the bar to sit down with a couple of Liv's friends.

I ended up sitting between her and a brunette guy. I didn't want to rude, so I introduced myself to him before Liv could. "Hey I'm y/n." I held my hand out in front of the guy. He looked at me in the eye, making me notice that his eyes were even more blue than Paige's. Damn. He held onto my hand and shook it for what felt like longer than needed. He had a shy smile on his lips and did anything he could to not break eye contact with me. "I'm Carter." It felt like our hands were melting together before he pulled away to look at Liv. "Carter this is y/n!" Apparently me and Carter were quiet enough for people to not realize that we already knew each other by now. "Oh yeah she introduced herself already." He pointed his thumb to the side, motioning to me. A little time passed that was filled with mindless drunken conversations. My head had slowly fallen on Carter's shoulder and It took me by surprise when he didn't shove me off. So I pretended to sleep soundly when I was really listening in on whatever nonsense every what talking about now. I slowly tried to inch my arm through Carter's to loop our limbs together. This is when he knew that I wasn't asleep, he gently moved his arm away from his hip for me to fit my arms through before closing in on my arms. What the fuck am I doing. Now I tried my best to act tired when he tapped me "awake." I sat up and looked around while rubbing my eyes gently enough to not smudge any mascara. "I think I'm gonna head home now." Liv snapped her head to me and furrowed her eyebrows. "What why? We've only hung out for a little bit." She whined. "I don't know I'm just tired already." I groaned while standing up and grabbing my purse. I was about to leave when I felt Carter's strong hand hold onto mine while he lifted himself up. "Let me drive you home."

Me and Carter were halfway to exit when I remember that Paige was probably still waiting for me. Just as we were going to cross the booth that Paige and her team were at I changed my mind. "Actually Carter I'm sorry but I have a friend that goes home with me and I cant leave her alone." His expression changed immediately.

"I'm sure she'll be fine." He had his hand wrapped my wrist now.

"Seriously I would feel so shitty if I just left her." I laughed off what started to feel like fear.

"No. Come on stop being ridiculous, you need to get home." His hand started to tighten around my skin.

"Carter can you stop. Just let me go home with her." I started to try and shake my arm out of his grip.

"Y/n just fucking stop. Lets go." He tugged on my wrist, trying to lead me out the door. This was perfect timing for me to be in the girls' sight now.

"Shit! Carter let me go!" I stopped walking and stood still while trying to pry his hand off of my wrist.

Finally Paige looked up and saw what was going on. Not a single ounce of hesitation crossed her mind. She stood up and rushed over to me. "Hey man let her fucking go!" She stormed in Carter face while holding a hand around my waist, pulling me away from the brunette. Carter was startled away by the 5'11 girl that had just as much confidence and more than his own. I had a couple tear in my waterline but quickly got rid of them by blinking and wiping the wet streaks of of my face. "Woah back off, I'm just trying to take her home." Carter snapped at Paige. "No, fuck off." Paige turned around with me in her grasp and walked back over to the booth. Everyone but Caroline didn't even realize what just happened. "Fine, I wouldn't want to fuck a dyke anyway." Carter yelled back at both me and Paige. It took everything in me to not turn around and swing at Carter. So Paige did it for me. she threw a hard punch right at the brunettes nose, knocking him back against the floor. "Jesus Paige!" I wrapped my hands around both of her arms and pulled her away. Her adrenaline faded away in less than a second but I swear I could still see fume flowing out of her ears. She winced while rubbing her knuckle back and forth. "Lets go." Paige said coldly while look down at Carters now bloody face. I nodded silently before holding onto her hand and walking the two of us out the exit door. Surprisingly, Paige hand gotten even a little tipsy that night. As much as I didn't want to make her drive, I didn't want to get into a crash at 12 am so Paige drove me to my apartment and unlocked the door. "Paige no. come in." I refused to let her drop me off and deal with whatever anger was built up in her alone.

I practically dragged Paige out of the car and through my door. She seemed more drunk than I was right now. I walked her to my bathroom and tapped on the counter, gesturing for her to sit down on it. She lifted herself up and winced again after putting pressure of her wounded hand. Her legs were swinging back and forth while she fidgeted with her own thumbs and I grabbed a first-aid kit and some rubbing alcohol. Her legs were spread just enough for me to fit myself in-between. I rested against her thigh while holding her fist in my hand and gently swiping away the excess blood. "This is gonna hurt." Were the only words I let out from when she punched Carter to when we almost fell asleep. I dabbed a cotton ball soaked with rubbing alcohol on the very tip of her knuckle, causing Paige's head to tilt back while she swayed her feet a bit more aggressively. "Shit!" she whined a bit before I pulled the cotton ball away and threw it in the trash can. Now that her fist was clean I could've just left it like that. I could've cleaned up the mess, put everything away and go to sleep. But of course I had to raise her hand up to my lips and place a gentle kiss on her knuckle. A lingering smell and taste of rubbing alcohol transferred to my lips but I tried to hide that. When I looked up, Paige's eye were locked onto mine. I did everything in me to attempt to look away but before I could I felt Paige's soft lips pressed into mine. I quickly got more comfortable with the kiss and slowly moved my hands to wrap around Paige's waist. I tilted my head to the side to perfectly fit her nose in between my eye socket and my own nose. She pulled away gently to look at me and protest what just happened. "I'm sorry-"

"Shut the fuck up."

I moved my hand up to Paige jawline and continued to wrap my lips around hers. I could feel that she didn't want to pull away but felt like she had the need to. "Sit up." I whispered through kisses and that she did. Paige stood up and moved her hands around my back, slowly moving them closer to my ass. I led her to my room and shut the door behind me before pushing her against the bed. I unlatched our lips to speak one more time.

"How long have you wanted to do this?"

"Long fucking time."

"I know."

I let my tongue slip in between Paige's lips, tangling itself with her own. Her hands were now running a long my back under my shirt. I pulled away for one last second to take of my shoes and jacket before fully crawling on top of Paige's lap and placing kisses down her neck and collarbones. Soft whines escaped the blondes mouth as I move closer to the opening of her flannel. Without removing my lips from her skin, I unbuttoned the flannel to reveal just a black sports bra. I looked up at Paige, giving her a look that was waiting for approval to take off her bra. She nodded eagerly giving me the chance to take it off. I couldn't help but stare at her tits before moving my lips further down her chest now reach her stomach. I traced my lips against each toned ab that she had. I could feel her stomach flexing against my mouth once I reached her bikini line. Now I gently unzipped her jeans and slipped them down her legs before tossing them to the side. The only noise I heard were the desperate whines leaving Paige's mouth, getting louder the lower I moved my lips. I practically tore her boxers off.

This is what I needed.

#paige bueckers #lesbian #basketball #uconn wbb #uconhuskies #smut #paigexreader #paige x reader #Paige bueckers smut

[readychilledwine]

Little One

Summary - After arriving home for the first time in 50 years, Rhysand is shocked to find someone so small in his sister's arms. (Azriel x Rhysands sister!oc)

Warnings - post UTM, broken Rhys, children

A/N - If this has posted, I have given birth and this is kicking off my maternity celebration. A lot of these next couple weeks will carry the theme of family. The good, bad, ugly, and happy sides of it. And of course, the angst and spice that comes with relationships. I wanted to start with a piece I wrote after my own brothers learned they were going to be Uncles for the first time, and will probably end the celebration with Light in the Hallway (dad!Eris x reader) because that piece is so... special to me.

"Well, welcome home!" Rhys nodded, looking at Cassian who was wearing a shit eating grin. Cassian kept looking at Azriel and back to Rhys. The high lord looked at Mor who was bouncing in place. Then Armen who was also hiding a smile.

Azriel was blushing, hiding in his shadows. Rhys was quick to notice the lack of black hair, golden skin, and long beautiful legs that normally stood holding Azriel's hands at all times. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

"Where's my sister?" Mor squealed at the comment, bouncing hard.

"You mean his wife?" Azriel shot a look to the blonde before his face grew more red. Rhys raised a brow before smiling ferally.

"Did you finally marry her? Azriel, that's-" Rhys face twitched to a half smile as the door opened and a familiar, "Where's my mate?" Came through the room.

He felt her exhaustion before he saw her. Her mind was a scattered mess of stress, and yet she was content and joyful. Rhys walked over to the doorway to the hall. He leaned against the framed out entry way from the greeting room to the living room watching the female.

Selene stood in the entrance, back to him as she removed her coat and then her heeled shoes. She was wearing a beautiful tea length black dress with tulle straps that tied over her shoulders. Her hair was longer, significantly longer, Rhys noted. "Stop staring Cassian."

Rhys smiled at the soft melody of her voice. The gentleness it held was a constant fresh air that comforted everyone around her. He cleared his throat, excited to see his baby sister for the first time in 50 years, "I apologize, Sel. I can't help but admire your beauty when I haven't laid eyes on you in so long." Selene instantly froze, her mind pausing to process the voice she heard. She moved again, standing up and stopping whatever she had been adjusting on the floor. She spun quickly, staring at him in shock.

He studied her face. It was truly the soft version of his. She had the same angular high cheekbones, the same starlight filled eyes, the same lip shape only hers were fuller. In fact, she in general was softer, fuller. She had gained a little weight, her breasts were fuller, hips a little wider. She was devastatingly beautiful before, but whatever had made her body scream "goddess" had Rhys thankful she was one of his spies and had not run off to another court.

She whispered softly, "Rhys."

"Selene."

They moved at the same time, her jumping into his chest, her arms finding his neck, his finding her waist. They laughed softly together. Rhysand's eyes closed as he took in the pleasant warmth of her body and the scent of flowers and honey. It took him a second, but his nose slowly processed something else. He dug his head into her neck, finding the scent of night air and cedar that clung to her skin. But there was something else.

Someone else. Rhysand's eyes snapped open while studying her. "Are you and Azriel welcoming other people into your bed again?" He smiled ferally at her, "The shields only been down for a day. He must be a good lover if you already ran off to him?"

The female threw her head back, her laughter ringing through the home like bells. She looked at Rhys, "One, your shields weren't that hard for me to get through. Two, we kind of are. Go sit on the couch and shut your eyes!"

Rhys raised a brow before following the orders of his sister. Mor was about to burst with joy, already holding back tears, Cassian was beaming. Armen smiled at Azriel as the shadowsinger softly smiled at Rhys. The high lord closed his eyes, "If this was a plot to kill me, just know im thankful it was your hands and not someone elses." Her laughter made him smile again as he heard her moving towards him.

The scent hit him again, stronger this time. He could finally place it. It was soft and spicy, as if it was still developing and wrapped heavily in the scent of Azriel. It reminded him of lavender and vanilla underneath all of the layer. Lavender, vanilla, and baby powder? Rhys questioned.

Rhys felt Selene's arms on his. She was moving gently and staying very quiet. In fact, the whole room had grown quiet as Rhys processed a soft fabric in his arms. As she removed her arms, leaving whatever she was holding in his hands, it hit him instantly. His eyes shot open, and a loud sob left his mouth.

"You had a fucking baby." Bright eyes stared back up at Rhys, studying him as Rhys raised a hand to stroke the rosy cheeks of the faeling in his arms. "Hi baby," He felt the first tear fall and didn't bother trying to hide the rest. "I'm your Uncle Rhys. What's your name?"

Azriel had moved, kneeling in front of Rhysand. He cooed his daughter softly as she stared up at her uncle with wide blue eyes. His blue eyes. His sister's blue eyes. "This is Estelle. She's just under a year old. I'm sorry we couldn't ask you about the name, but we just -" Selene and Azriel's jaws twitched. Selene had looked away and up, blocking the painful reminder.

"We knew," Cassian answered softly. "She looks just like sissy."

"She does." Rhys admired the tiny nose, chubby cheeks, and her perfect soft skin as he enjoyed this moment with his niece. She looked like a small version of his middle sister, the only key different was she had the same eyes as Rhys and Selene instead of the illyrian Hazel her namesake had inherited from his mother.

He held a hand out for Selene to take and the new mother did, moving to sit next to him. "Do you have everything she needs in all the houses?"

"We were only missing one thing, Rhys. And you're here now, so we have everything she needs," she answered softly, tears running down her own face. "I owe you some money and an apology, though. I had to break the shield for me to be able to get into Velaris, but I ensured Noone recognized me. I also spent a fair bit of money." She was playing with her long dark hair, guilt causing her shoulders to fall forward. "Cassian told me nothing she has could be used."

The high lord laughed, pulling his sister into him before kissing her head, "Oh no, how could you spend the money I would have spent on my niece anyways?" The sarcasm in his tone made the room laugh. "Should we get you and mommy matching dresses? Yes we should. My beautiful girls," Az hung his head in laughter before Rhys paused again, "You can feel the power in this little thing."

"She creates shadows-" Selene drug out the "s" as she avoided eye contact with Rhys.

"They're completely sentient. They have a mind of their own and only respond to her. They take the form of things she likes. Lately they have all looked like Armen. We also think something else is going on involving the stars. She almost… Glitters under the night sky." Azriel explained as his hand touched her head. Rhys looked to Amren, and the ancient being only smirked as she sipped her glass of spiced blood. Any ideas? He asked her silently.

Rhysand's eyes grew wide as he smirked at the giggling babe, her beautiful eyes locked on Auntie Amren, "Delightful. Tell me everything about her." The inner circle all moved to surround the High lord and new parents. Telling him stories about the baby girl chewing on his fingers before reaching out crying for her mother.

"I watched her rearrange the stars one night," Amren said slowly. "She must have missed Baba, because there's now a bat shaped constellation that wasn't there before. Isn't there, little one?"

"She's hungry. I'm sorry. I'll bring her right back," Selene moved with grace, collecting her daughter, and walking up the stairs, breast already mostly exposed as she cooed to the baby.

Rhys looked at Azriel and asked one last time, "You're sure you have everything she needs?"

Azriel smiled, "Like she said, you were the only thing missing. Stell has everything she needs, and I know we all will give her everything she could ever want." The inner circle nodded at the Spymaster's words. "Right now, the biggest argument we've had was if she'd continue tradition and we would take her to Illyria to train, or if we'd keep her here."

Rhysand watched as Cassian's jaw began a feather light twitch. "My niece is not training in Illyria unless things have changed completely and clipping is an offense punishable by death. Even then I will not leave her."

Azriel pinched the bridge of his nose. "So we forsake our culture? You and I know that will never happen. She will always be a target-"

"Another time, brothers." Rhysand smiled at them, stopping the argument that was about to ensure. "I'm taking the two of them shopping tomorrow. I'm buying everything Selene touches. I don't believe you have everything my little niece needs." Rhysand wanted to hear it one last time. To hear what she and Azriel both said and genuinely meant just one more time.

Azriel rolled his eyes, "She will not let you do that, Rhys. All that was missing was you."

#acotar #azriel acotar #azriel #rhysand acotar #rhys acotar #azriel x rhysands sister! reader #elizabeths.maternitycelebration